


An Aquila lost within an Oriental Land of Illusions

by DreadPirateScarlet



Category: Touhou Project, Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Crossover, Danmaku (Touhou), Gen, on-going
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:26:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22597792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreadPirateScarlet/pseuds/DreadPirateScarlet
Summary: In the far future, among the endless chaos of the 42nd millennium, war has raged days of yore. In these grim and dour times, a battered collection of survivors flee from an ill-fated Imperial campaign, only to find themselves hauled from their reality to to crash upon the realm of Gensokyo. This stark realm will test oaths and faith as what it bears is alien to these tempered souls.Peace.(It's a Warhammer 40K/Touhou Project Crossover… What am I doing, am I mad? Certainly tis the only answer!)
Relationships: Undecided!
Kudos: 7





	1. Prologue

**\\\ ++ :: Begin Record Recollection :: ++ //**

**:: Inloading Message Connection Data ::**

**\\\ ++ :: Intended Recipient: Ordo Astra; Inquisitor Tharix :: ++ //**

**[[ :: Opening Communication Channel :** **_Acolyte Artaus_ ** **Transmitting . . . ::]]**

“...Greetings most blessed Inquisitor, after months of collection and vital compiling among hundreds of forgotten librariums of the Cygnet sector, your faithful acolytes have compiled for you the report you most urgently requested. Your request for information on the region of space dubbed the Phantasma Abyss, M’Lord was most strange as few archives exist or are properly maintained in this late hour. ....”

**[[ :: Incoming Vox Traffic: Ordo Astra; Inquisitor Tharix :: ]]**

“. . . It has taken you several solar years to compile this data Artaus, whilst I will no doubt express great pleasure in your ruthless diligence, your delays have caused a great stir within the Ordo Minorus. With the most recent revelations by members of my committee as it pertains to our missing Battlegroup, Ordo Chronos has begun probing our investigation, and their intervention in my investigation is something I can ill afford . . .”

**[[ :: Incoming Vox Traffic :** **_Acolyte Artaus_ ** **::]]**

“ . . . Of course my most holy Lord, I would not dare waste your time nor resources on folly, my report is comprehensive and contains dozens of reconstructed events using innumerable recountings and data recordings recovered by the Trader Dynasty of Mithreal. I can safely say that we have successfully compiled what could be considered the quintessential report on the lost Battlegroup **_Astra Integrum_ **. . .”

**[[ :: Incoming Vox Traffic: Ordo Astra; Inquisitor Tharix :: ]]**

“ . . . Very well, then let us delve into this archive, the Ordo and myself would be elated to finally close the book on this irksome footnote as it relates to the Phantasma Abyss. Now let us begin, from what you’ve transmitted, I am to understand the Battlegroup in question was fleeing from the nearby warzone of Ichorous V with a host of greenskins upon their trail? . .”

**[[ :: Incoming Vox Traffic :** **_Acolyte Artaus_ ** **::]]**

“ . . . Indeed M’Lord the most complete image is drawn from the details of several ranking officers and specialists from the combined arms fleet. From what we can piece together, **_Astra Integrum_ ** was comprised of several different Imperium-aligned factions, ranging from House Valenshroud’s own Knightly Court, to the Forgeworld of Bavarii and several maniples of their warhost alongside their personal armored core the Bavarii “Iron Hounds”.

In addition several detaches from the Ichorous V Planetary Guard came with them, with various elements from the elite tithe Ashari 2nd “Dunebreaker '' Vanguard and Káthodos 495th “Sky Raider” Drop Wings. Which as you know was dispatched to Ichorous V with the intent of breaking the hold upon several Hive-Worlds by vile greenskins that have ravaged and terrorized the surrounding sectors in the centuries prior. 

From what the menials report, the Battlegroup gave battle to the massed warband of Orkish invaders but was overwhelmed and collected stragglers and elements from various Imperial elements that remained after it became clear the conflict was to be devastating to Imperial Forces. With what forces they could recover from the doomed system, they set about withdrawing under the orders of Commodore Terval, the ranking officer of the Battlegroup after Admiral Karsis was slain in action. . . “

**[[ :: Incoming Vox Traffic: Ordo Astra; Inquisitor Tharix :: ]]**

“ . . . Defeat at the hand of greenskins? Acolyte you must be trying my patience, the Battlegroup of **_Ad Integrum_ ** included elements from some of the finest institutions our blessed Imperium could muster. Shall we not forget, these regiments of the Imperial Guard drawn from worlds who’s tithe to the Imperium has been up until this point peerless in their capabilities.

Thusly are you to imply that a vaunted warhost such as this was broken by the likes of mere Greenskins? Your jesting does so wear upon my patience. . . “

**[[ :: Incoming Vox Traffic :** **_Acolyte Artaus_ ** **::]]**

“ . . .Most holy Inquisitor, I would broker no mockery to the formidable warhost the Imperium did assemble to smite the foes of Man. The preliminary investigations into the fate of the Battlegroup has led us to suspect that there, perhaps, may have been seditious elements that had embedded themselves within the Imperial detachments at the behest of masters of the darkened sort. 

Listening post data from the time seems to suggest that there was an unusual stretch of activity in the Phantasma Abyss during the time frame in which the Battlegroup would have been entering and returning along the stellar route that moves through the estranged region of space. 

As for the nature of the Orkish incursion that possibly drove away the Battlegroup and gave chase to them, there is no sign. Early reports from the segmentum indicate several disparate war hosts of Greenskins operating under an unusually capable and vile Warboss that had been plaguing the sector prior to their arrival. Early Adaptus Mechanicus reports suggest a ratio of greenskins far higher than even that reported to the units upon their initial dispatch to this sector. It was by the crushing weight of numbers they seem to have driven back our stalwart defenders and given chase to them as they began a disorganized withdrawal.

**[[ :: Incoming Vox Traffic: Ordo Astra; Inquisitor Tharix :: ]]**

“ . . . How ill timed, very well then, your report suggested that as the fleet began this poorly organized withdrawal from the doomed sector that they had at least successfully established and completed a transition into the Immaterium. Then if such is the case Acolyte, how did data-servitors carrying all this information end up inside a derelict Cobra Destroyer that was confirmed to have made a transition into the Immaterial with the rest of the withdrawing fleet? I want to know where the rest of my Battlegroup is Acolyte . . . “

**[[ :: Incoming Vox Traffic :** **_Acolyte Artaus_ ** **::]]**

“ . . . I implore you, for but a few moments more of your strained patience, as survey teams boarded the vessel and found the following data as it was, intact and prepared for dispensation for whom it may concern. As it stands, the augers and data-banks of the Cobra Destroy, codified as the _Light of Stahl_ , was indeed part of the few ships that managed to disengage after the stellar battle that claimed the life of Admiral Karsis at the entrance to the Ichorous V system. The remnant of the fleet made haste to collect and recover groundside elements that were trapped in battle planetside on the sector capital of Ichorous V.

After several stalling actions made by their bedraggled capital ships and destroyer escorts, the fleet made an emergency transition into the Immaterial. The internal ledger for the vessel records them departing with a sizable force of orkish warships riding and pursuing their wake through the Warp.

It was near the mid-way of their journey…. And forgive my lack of grasp Inquisitor, that they were suddenly pulled from their stellar route, their place of arrival is unrecoverable my Lord as Adaptus Mechanicus thralls and Administratum data-menials were unable to point to any solid location within our expanse that these data-points coincide with. From there the _Light of Stahl_ ’s own data-banks come to an end after the crew abandoned ship in orbit of an unknown world. The data bank only recorded a single emergency jump that hauled the ship back into real-space somewhere within the Phantasma Abyss some considerable time later. . . “

**[[ :: Incoming Vox Traffic: Ordo Astra; Inquisitor Tharix :: ]]**

“ . . . How irksome, but you do have confirmation that much of the lost battlegroup was indeed intact when they were forced to make a transition into the material or what it could loosely be called within that twisted mote of reality they had been drawn too?. . .”

**[[ :: Incoming Vox Traffic :** **_Acolyte Artaus_ ** **::]]**

“. . . Indeed M’Lord, we have confirmation that the information as it has been presented to you includes everything we can glean from on the ground details. Several of the regiments kept detailed logs of their time within this anomalous region of space. It is from these logs that were placed seemingly purposefully within the data-banks recovered from the _Light of Stahl_ that we’ve been able to cobble together a rough time-table and account of what unfolded. Within the realm they refer to as “The Land of Illusions” and from what we’ve gleaned it is some-sort of half-realm, neither fully within the material nor within the Immaterial. M'Lord, tis an estranged place out of time truly, where the laws of reality have broken down in some regards. 

Yet unlike recorded daemon-worlds, this realm did not match any previously catalogued worlds touched by Chaos and it's infectious and twisting nature. This realm may indeed have been some world forged by beings of the Immaterium that sought some sort of order- . . . “

**[[ :: Incoming Vox Traffic: Ordo Astra; Inquisitor Tharix :: ]]**

“. . . We do not have idle time to speculate on the nature of the Immaterial nor the nature of the Arch-Enemy. You would do well to avoid mention of such and the speculation pertaining to such matters, least we draw in the focus of more Ordo’s with far more esoteric interest in said manners. I broker little patience for their probings when so much work remains to be done in finding our lost fleet.

Now, this “Land of Illusions”, I see you have taken the liberty to translate the local Low Gothic dialect into a more legible form of High Gothic. This name is somewhat cumbersome to speak aloud, what in their tongue, did the reports refer to the land as Acolyte? . . .”

**[[ :: Incoming Vox Traffic :** **_Acolyte Artaus_ ** **::]]**

“ . . . I shall heed to your infinite wisdom M’Lord, I do beg your pardon for such errant speculation staining our communication’s link. Indeed, I had taken the opportunity to translate the text into something more manageable for High Gothic speakers, when spoken in Low Gothic it composed the word **_Gensokyo_ **, at least in the native dialect.” 

**[[ :: Incoming Vox Traffic: Ordo Astra; Inquisitor Tharix :: ]]**

“ . . . **_Gensokyo_ **? Feh, a cumbersome word as well, spoken by savages no doubt. Very well Artaus, let me see what sources we have at our disposal for recollection, make certain to include what you can in this briefing so that I can relay this to my committee most effectively. Now, I want to start with the journals from a source I recognize. 

This one, here from a 1st Lieutenant Tomas Foley, of the“Sky-Raiders” Drop Troop. I am familiar with the feats of this Imperial Guard regiment, as I’ve seen several after-action reports from warzones they’ve participated within. If I recall correctly they possess, a fairly well decorated unit of honor-bound Stormtroopers with a suitably intense loathing and hatred for the Greenskin. I am to understand that my elected account, being it is one of many, is one of the more grounded of the entries. Or are all of the presented archives and notes going to be just as fantastic and difficult to explain? . . .”

**[[ :: Incoming Vox Traffic :** **_Acolyte Artaus_ ** **::]]**

“ . . . Most noble Lord, if I were able to make these clear and grounded as the dawn, I would have. Unfortunately the scenario we find ourselves in, lacks just that. Clarity in any true capacity as we have been forced to cobble this together the best we can, shall I begin relaying the data-entry to you so that you may intake it's contents at your leisure, M’Lord? . . .”

**[[ :: Incoming Vox Traffic: Ordo Astra; Inquisitor Tharix :: ]]**

“ . . . Indeed, begin the inload. Let us see what we can glean from these entries, hopefully delving into the depth of this enigma will shed some light on the state of the Battlegroup and possible whereabouts as to it's final location. 

You may begin transmitting at once Artaus . . . [ ***Muffled*** ] Veritus, get me a glass of amasec, I feel as if I will need such for this wordy catalogue of information and it's entire depth.”

**[[ :: Incoming Vox Traffic :** **_Acolyte Artaus_ ** **::]]**

“ . . . But of course M’Lord as you will. Blessed be Him on Earth. May he elucidate the fate of the souls of our brothers and sisters at arms that were lost among the Phantasma Abyss. May His justice account in all things.

**[[ :: Vox Communication; Terminated ::]**

**[[ :: Beginning Data In-load from Remote Source ::]**

**\\\ ++ . . . ++ //**

**\\\ ++ ::Addendum to Drafted Archive :: ++ //**

“These are the after-action and recovered data-logs from various sources attached to the doomed Battlegroup **_Astra Intergum_ ** that vanished along routes that travel through the condemned sector known as the **Phantasma Abyss** upon some shifting realm aether realm known as **Gensokyo**. 

The following stories and accounts are a record of the officers and enlisted that served upon that world, how this tale will end, only further study will reveal..

**[++ :: Benediction of the Day :: ++ ]]**

“. . . Blessed be those that tread the lightened path, for within the dark does treason grow . . .”


	2. Chapter 1 - The Calm before the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another round? Yep Another round! Lets keep at it. 
> 
> Gonna try to do a sick back flip soon, just gotta plan the logistics of such.

**\\\ ++ :: Beginning Scene Reconstruction :: ++ /**

**[:: Inloading Data-Packet; Lt. Tomas Foley :: ]**

**\\\ ++ :: Begin Record Playback :: ++ /**

Light and darkness in alternating patterns would move before Lt. Tomas Foley's face, the world around him a dull blur as a throbbing pain upon the left side of his face would flare up aggressively as the nearby medical officer would slowly bind his wounded countenance in dense gauze and dressings. Tomas would flinch visibly as dune-worlder pull a bit too tightly upon the wrappings whilst they tie down their loose ends, the flinch causing the heavy scarlet carapace plate upon his frame to shudder as he tries to shy away from her working hands.

"Throne, lass are you trying to crush my head with all these bandages? I said I was bloody well fine naught but half an hour ago. We got more urgently wounded that need your care, get to em…"

The tending medic, a stoic and firm faced women would be given pause before tugging a bit more harshly on the ends of the bandage to wind them and tuck them beneath the heavy mesh atop Tomas' face. Zeineb would give a tsk'ing sound as she moves to close the top of her supply bag, adjusting her sun-bleached flak armor and the loose fitting desert world haik that left only her eyes visible.

"For a seasoned Officer of an elite Corps of Drop Troopers you have no end to your complaining. I was ordered to treat you by Commissar Jalah, and as such I am honor bound to tend to you and your injuries. Not many can claim to have taken an autogun slug to the visor and survived, not with just battlefield medicine at least."

Foley would frown curtly, and shake his head, moving to don his idle carapace helm which he'd left at his side. A quick glance revealed the slug had shattered the glass visor and been caught by the complex carapace weave that comprised the helmets visor, it was a miracle alone that had saved his life, albeit leaving his goggles ruined. He'd slap the helmet on curtly and indicate off towards an idling group of the dune-worlders kin, the all female kith wearily sharpening their curved power blades in somber silence on the opposite side of the hanger.

"Aye, I know your Commissar is about muckin' around, give her my thanks when you see her. Head over and check your unit, as a favor kindly. I gotta find where Major Bruma is encamped at and see what our next move is going to be."

Zeineb momentarily pauses, and though he couldn't spy her face he knew all too well the look of worry in her eyes. Quietly she indicates just beyond him, to a dropship Valkyrie idly sitting behind him some short distance away.

"Indeed, I shall Lt. though If I may be so bold, what condition is your fire-team in? Were you able to at least get some of your men out of that drop-zone?"

Tomas pauses at the question, glancing back over his shoulder to a trio of men sitting silently around a pile of munition crates alongside the troop-ship, seemingly stoic as they quietly cycle charge-shots for their archaic las-rifles with each man lost to his own thoughts. The trio move as if in slow motion, each of their actions almost automated as they go about their duty of preparing their kits once more. Inwardly he knew that there were six empty seats among the trio of remaining troops. He works his jaw idly and lowers his voice a touch, shaking his head.

"Not enough for it all to matter, not even close to such."

Zeineb would grow somber nod her head,whilst reaching out to pat the heavy shoulder guard of the Lt, before she clears her throat,

"Well, the God-Emperor watches over us still, Commissar Jalah stated that we might have to form mixed squads with the various regiments as it seems no unit got out unscathed. I do hope that you get stuck with a unit half as good as your old one."

With that Specialist Zeinb would give a low bow of her head, and move off towards the kith from her regiment. Her chiding voice almost seemed to echo over the din of the busy hanger bay as she approaches the blade wielding warriors. With her departure Foley would cast his gaze towards the aft corridor blast-door knowing full well he'd need to report in to the bridge as that is where most often Major Bruma had been entrenched as of late. Giving his helmet one last adjustment he set off upon his path, which took him alongside the squat and angular form of the dropship his unit now idled by. As he approached, the men seemed not to acknowledge him leaving him to linger for a moment waiting to see if they would speak, but not a word would greet him.

He'd cast a look over the ragged collection of troopers before clearing his throat as he indicates beyond the angled wing of the dropship and past their small fortress of crates towards the far side of the hanger. His voice ring hollow in his mouth as he tried to find the right words to bolster the failing spirits of his unit.

"You all set to go? I've been called up to the bridge to collect our orders and unit composition charts for after we make the transition back to real space. Word on the field is that we are going to be forming ad-hoc and mixed regiment units here soon due to lack of fill-ins. I want your gear squared and ready to move when I get back."

One of the younger men, Trooper Albert silently shuffles another of the power-cell shells into the clip he bore. He inspects it as whilst giving a glassy eyed stare to Foley as he speaks, turning the bloc clip around before sliding it into the open breach of his hot-shot lasrifle. The clank of the mechanism slamming to home, would punctuate his impending statement.

"I ain't taking orders from no dune worlder, or an ice worlder. If'n they had done their jobs to begin with…"

His words are cut short as Foley gives a sharp frown, a tired look on his face would slip through the cracks as he speaks up to cut off the younger troopers grief, he himself inwardly knowing all too well the feeling that laden his greenhorn's heart. But as a good officer he could never show it, as sharply remarks back to the lower enlisted.

"Lock it up Albert, you know as well as I do there was nothing you or anyone could have done differently back there. We were given bad drop-site coordinates from a faulty sensor servitor, we dropped and got caught in the open, and we gave the Greenskins hell. You got your fellow troopers around you to think about, ya hear? Keep your head up, for yourself and for your brothers."

The younger trooper would grow quiet, listening to Foley's words as he numbly nods his head, a weakly muttered affirmation would be the only reply he could draw from the battle shocked youth. The other two remained stoic and silent, working to rearm their gear and fine-tune their armament, as Foley would give a short nod.

"Good, I'll be back once I've something to sound off, keep your vox-link open and I'll relay orders to you when it's time. I'm bound to the bridge to try and find Major Bruma. I'll see if I can find some recaf in this miserable dump."

Tomas heels left and pushes on by, failing to wait for an acknowledgement or response, knowing full well he would not get one from the battered troops as he made his way past the Valkyrie on his course to the far blast door in the hanger. The route would take him past dozens of the hastily and errant Valkyries partway in their stations, a few dozen troopers would be working to prep with their own unit officers. They'd arrived on Ichorous V with nearly a full company strength detachment, now there was but handfuls left of the various fireteams. These men however were grizzled and bloodied of the "Sky-Raiders" clad in scarred scarlet carapace uniforms, each of them nearby cast out crisp salutes to Tomas as he moved passed them responding in kind, inwardly wondering how these hardened soldiers so easily smothered their grief of comrades lost.

The expansive hanger was nearly overburdened with a host of war-machines and landing craft that sat cluttered tightly together on the vast flight deck. Far too many shuttles and vehicles had been ferried up during the evacuation as it now played havoc as the ships tech-thralls now squabble and traded binary insults among one another as Tomas passes them by, trying to avoid getting caught up in their internecine squabbles. He nimbly weaves between the vast tracked forms of hulking Bavarii Leman Russes and Chimeras in stark mottled white camouflage, as their female crews shouted down and hurled spanners and repair tools at one another in agitated spats as they raced to bring their armored steeds back into fighting shape once more.

At last he clears the throng of armored vehicles managing past several of the crimson robed Mechanicus Adapts as they head forth into the jungle of steel behind him. The heavy doorway would open with a clanking hiss as he escapes the din of the hanger into the still quiet of the corridors that weave and wind towards the bridge beyond. His boots clatter on the grated metal below him as he manages past the few stragglers that had gone forth to the mess hall a few decks up. As he managed past several of the desert worlders on their way back from mess, he'd catch a flicker of color and movement down one of the empty side passages as the soft clatter of hard shoe heels would echo in the quiet of the corridor.

He turns his head so that his good eye can catch sight of a swirl of colors. Alongside him would stride a women clad in pastel hued billowing dress of rosey pinks and soft violets, whilst shaded beneath a shaded parasol of ivory white. The shimmer of long flaxen hair rested bound with crimson ribbons beneath a billowing cap of rosen hue. The lass would be of an indeterminate age as kept pace along evenly beside him, wordless in her arrival and silent still as her lavender hued eyes watched him with a muted uneasy curiosity.

Foley flinches at her sudden proximity, the silence of her approach unnerving in the highest as he takes stock of whom else was around him, finding the corridor bereft of other travelers save them. He'd take stock of the new compatriot, giving a half frown as well as his bandaged face would allow. _Oh Throne, we took aboard sector nobility_ , he mulled internally as he stared down the corridor praying the bridge door would grow closer, but it seemed a distant thing. Certainly the Commodore had advised they took on civilians when they fled and it makes sense that a member of the upper society would have escaped the devastation of Ichorous V aboard their personal leisure craft, though it did not make the notion of interacting with the aristocratic elite any more appealing.

Though curiously the thought struck him as he'd not spied the usually gaudy vessels becoming of a wealthy noble family within the hanger nor could he fathom finding space for such. However he opted not to question such nor the means she'd used to arrive aboard the vessel, as he was a High-born Officer and the firm traditions he'd been tempered with in his youth forbade him to begin questioning those outside his station and rank. He opts instead to quietly continue along at the clip his was, ever confounded as the lass continues to match his step pace for pace, her gaze seemingly never breaking from his face nor the smirk upon her features.

Their short silent foot race came to an end when the lass spoke up in perfect High Gothic with a tone as playful as the smile upon her face, "Oft in a rush are we not? How curious Lieutenant, don't you find this perpetual hustle all a bit, tiresome?"

Foley would blink a few times, casting a glance over to his hanger-on whilst clearing his throat, trying to keep his words brisk and to the point "Aye, Ma'am, ain't no rest on this ship after what just unfolded back at Ichorous. We gotta get reorganized and find our footing so we can properly sort ourselves out for combat once we complete our transition into real-space."

The soft of the women's shoe heels would faintly echo for a time as she seems to remain contemplative, continuing still to watch him not unlike a feline to is prey. Her voice only fluttering forth when she finds his silence a dreadful bore, "Mhmm, so it would seem, how long are you going to keep up this facade for your men? Your looking tired Lieutenant, it doesn't take a physician to realize your running on the frayed end of your nerves. Why not take some time away from the crush of war? Why not seek out a placid realm to soothe your mind, your people hail from a world covered in the endless sea do they not?"

At such Tomas would come to a halt, his peer matching his pause as he turns towards her. His eyes narrow in suspicion as he knew full well that whilst his regiment did hail from the endless seas of a ocean world, no wealthy and pampered Imperial aristocrat would have bothered to learn of such if not for manipulative reasons.

"Ma'am, I continue to move despite my sapped vigor for the sake of my men. The Emperor never once has grown weary and shied from his duty, I shant find myself lacking before him on the Day of Judgement. Now be there anything else you need? I'd graciously advise you to return to your cabin, as we've much work to be done and we can't afford to be slowed by needling questions."

The lass pauses, and much to his surprise, doesn't suddenly clasp her pearls and gasp as many a noble has done in response to his rebuke. She merely gives him a sly smile and twirls her parasol about between her fingers as she indicates towards the weary Lieutenant with a chuckle.

"So dour and serious you and your companions are, I've heard the same thing thrice over now and honestly, I find it a bit humorous. This dance you and your men do upon the stage, don't you find it a bit cyclical? You storm and heave racing and lusting for conflict to thrive upon and to find yourself within. Yet once the thunder and symphony of war is at its close and the stage lights have dimmed, you sit in somber silence wistful once more for the sound of the cacophony once more."

The woman would take a long moment as she traces the contour of her chin with a finger, musing visibly before indicating to the confused and slightly agitated Lieutenant.

"It's all a grand show upon the stage is it not? Quite frankly I wonder what would befall you if you were unable to find yourself in the crush of war and the endless torrent of battle. Is there someone else just beyond the veneer of your person? Or is this merely all you are, the cruel acid of war having washed away whom you are leaving you and your kin but hollow men."

Tomas's brow twinges at her unceasing musing, he works his jaw as he knows he has little time to spare to philosophical debates on the grand nature of their existence. His reply is terse and laden with strained civility as his peoples honor bound code would not allow him reprimand the noblewomen in any meaningful capacity.

"Ma'am I mean no disrespect or slight against your station, but unfortunately this conversation is above my status and right to muse. I've a duty to my men to report to my senior officer for order dispensation. Once our current crisis has abated, I'd be most enthralled to exchange musing on the notion of our existence and it's meaning. Until then I must be on my way."

The women would provide a pleased smile, twirling still that parasol between her fingers as she listens, a fire within her gaze that for some reason gave Tomas an uneasy feeling in his gut. She'd perk up and smile softly, indicating with a gesture in his direction.

"Well then, how about a wager Lieutenant? As I do know that you warrior types love a good challenge, after your meeting with your senior officer ..." She pauses and indicates to the vessel around her "... I challenge you and your compatriots to venture to a realm fully within my thrall. As you see a few minor problems gnaw upon this realm, If you and your compatriots are so kind as to tidy up loose ends, you are more than welcome to remain there in perpetuity as my honored guests. As you see, the place I govern has grown quite stale as of late, too little happens and those that dwell within have grown lazy and lax in their duties. Certainly new faces will freshen up the place in no small part. What do you say?"

Tomas remains quiet for a few moments, before giving a tired sigh, at this moment just wanting to be done with the wild and outlandish talk he was subject to by an eccentric noble that seems to have the onset of cabin fever.

"Of course, I shall take your wager Madam. Though I would graciously encourage you to relay any sensitive information like safe anchorage or local sectors we might be able to seek shelter in to the Commodore as he is the ranking officer in charge of our withdrawal. But aye, if we manage to evade the greenskins I and my unit will accompany you and your cohorts to regain control over your realm, now be there any further questions? I have duties I must attend too."

As he moved off, continuing on his course for the bridge, but a few bulkheads away. His guest would remain in her place, standing by far behind him as he strides steadily onward. Her voice would call out merrily once more, a smirk almost palpable in the air between them as she speaks in her dulcet tone.

"Remember Lieutenant Foley, that as a honor bound warrior of Kathodos, you must honor your pledge! I look forward to speaking with you again soon enough, please try to take some rest? It would do a world of wonder for you."

Tomas would freeze midstep, brow furrowed as his tired mind rapidly mulled over and played back the conversation they just said in his head, as he'd never given his name. In an instant he would wheel about in place speaking up as the words died in his throat.

"Wait, how do you know-"

Yet nothing was there to greet him, alone he stood in the empty corridor before the bulkhead that lead into the bridge. The various doors along the corridor tightly sealed and locked as they had been when he passed them, there was neither hide nor hair of the eccentric noble he had spoken too.

Inwardly he felt a cold chill run up the back of his spine, knowing full well there was no way conceivably for a women clad as she to simply vanish into thin air. He'd bring his hand up to the unbandaged part of his face and harshly pinch the bridge of his nose, wishing for nothing more than a steaming mug of recaf right now.

"Throne above, this ain't what I need, talking to ghosts on the main corridor. C'mon Tomas keep it together for ya lads."

After a brief moment of re-composing himself and ensuring he was attuned and awake, he'd step forth and trip the unseen sensor needed to open the door. With a faint and soft hiss in the quiet corridor, Foley would step into the bridge a certain brisk edge to his step wanting to be far from the corridor and the implications it bore for his mind.


	3. Chapter 2 - Ships in a Bottle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 2 of trying to do that back-flip, not much luck yet. Broke a dresser, in mourning.

**\\\ ++ :: Beginning Scene Reconstruction :: ++ /**

**[:: Inloading Data-Packet; Lt. Tomas Foley :: ]**

**\\\ ++ :: Continue Record Playback :: ++ /**

The bridge door would slide apart before Tomas, as the heavy blast plating grinds and sparks to mark it's opening. The bright light of the corridor at his back would contrast with the dull shadow shrouded bridge, various shimmering green lights from banks of computing-cogitators that scrolled countless torrents of data across their screens would be the only source of light within the dim chamber. Hurried forms of deck-serfs would race back and forth, presenting a difficult path to navigate as Tomas makes his way towards a sizable group of ranking officers gathered about the command throne that sat within the center of the room it's commanding view towering over the banks of monitors arranged before it.

As Tomas arrives at the side of the ad-hoc meeting, he’d take stock of the individuals present, the collection was clearly made up of the highest ranking individuals left aboard the ship and that fact alone gave him pause, opting to wait till he was summoned by his Major rather than interrupt. Ever so faintly he could hear the mummer of their discussion as they exchanged information among one another, several of them clearly agitated at whatever topic of discussion he’d arrived at the tail end of.

The nearest to him was one of the dune-worlders, a mighty women clad in the jet black greatcoat with a bright crimson sash heralding her as a member of the Commissariat her distinctive pale haik would denote her as Commissar Jalah of the “Dune-Breaker” Vanguards. She’d tiredly rub her eyes as at her side stood an equally imposing albeit aged gentlemen, a clad much the same whilst bearing a towering peak-cap and a chest that bore more medals than most Imperial Lords would boast. The grizzled and partially bionic face of the Lord Commissar Bulgraff would contain a near perpetual look of disdain, as he speaks up sharply whilst addressing a hulking figure clad in the deep crimson robe of the Adaptus Mechanicus.

“That ain’t acceptable in the slightest boy, I don’t give two shites what your people are lacking. I want to know what assets we will have when we make the transition back into real space. We’ve a responsibility to the soldiers aboard to get them armed for a fight with what we can muster. So don’t whinge about rites or blessed rituals, we need those damn Russ tanks functioning when we return to reality.”

The hulking robe clad individual, Magos Dominus Gretia of Bavarii, would turn agitatedly, a towering cog-tooth halberd’s haft’s end ringing upon the deck as it slams down the weapon to articulate its displeasure, the towering augmented Priest’s robes shift and flutter revealing a vast and robotic spider like lower form that clicks and hisses out puffs of steam as the figure lifts it's hooded visage. Nearly half a dozen jade glowing lense-eyes would leer out from beneath the hood, as a wheezing rebreather hisses the Mago’s response.

“Response: Illogical, We are unable to fabricate several key components aboard this vessel, only our trailing support ship, Omnissiah’s Insight, carries the needed foundries to replace key engine components for _our_ armored units. Addendum: This one would stress most urgently to the ranking member of the Commissariat that whilst the Iron Hounds are indeed by technical definition an Imperial Guard tithe. They fall under the purview of the First Maniple from the Forge-World and thus are under my direction. The only units you will have operational once we make our transition into the material realm, is the first lance, under Commander Alexi, she and her trio of Leman Russ battle-tanks are all the heavy armor we could repair in time. As for your regiments Chimera APC’s they await your orders. I shall contact the _Omnissiah’s Insight_ and instruct the Foundry Master to begin fabrication post-haste though I cannot do such whilst we are in translation in the Immaterial.”

Watching the two parties bicker idly would be the tired and weary aged form of the Commodore upon the command throne as they were arrayed before them, at his side Major Bruma would be intently watching the exchange with muted expression of displeasure. To defuse the situation, the Commodore would slap a hand down upon the throne, cutting off the incoming retort from the Lord Commissar, as he speaks up curtly.

“Enough, we don’t have time to bicker over authority, the situation is awash with mistakes and filled with enough fraught that we can sit here for decades pointing fingers. The fact remains we still have Greenskins riding our wake and hot on our trail. Lord Commissar Bulgraff, you will have access to the armor as mentioned by the Magos, in addition to the infantry provided by the Ichorous V companies being carried by the _Hand of Wrath_ these will have to suffice until we can organize ourselves and get our troop-ships out of the immediate cross fire that is bound to ensure once we transition into real-space.”

The Commodore would cast a glance to his side upon the greatcoat clad Major Bruma with such being more than enough to snare the senior officer’s attention, as he stood by ridged on by awaiting further orders himself.

“Major, you and your drop troopers are to immediately vacate my ship aboard your drop-ships, from what we can tell we should translate into a sector with a sparsely inhabited feral world, if we can bait the Greenskins into a brawl planetside that will give our vessels time to deploy our forces groundside, from there the Battlegroup will stage a stalling action until we can get a hymnal to the Segmentum Command and demand reinforcements from the nearby sectors garrisons.”

As the group would continue their heated discussion, a nearby deck-serf would pause his work upon his terminal nearby, his palpable worry enough to tear Tomas’s attention away from the speaking officers to his panicked form as he moves over ensemble of officers, raising his wavering voice above them.

“C-Commodore Terval, we have a situation developing, the augers aboard the _Light of Stahl_ have reported ghost contacts resembling another vessel has joined our formation, w-we’ve not been able to positively identify the warship or it's class, in addition the Navigator reports that something is amiss in the warp the eddies and maelstrom of the Immaterial are growing restless by each passing second.”

Commodore Terval would sit upright, his previous sense of weariness forgotten as he silences the congregation before him with but a gesture, an intense stare beamed down on the cowering deck-serf. The rest of his cohorts grow deathly silent and cast their attention upon the mere man that dared to interrupt their exchange. Terval speaks up starkly, eyes narrowing,

“What do you mean another ship has joined our formation? That is impossible, we are currently in translation, are you to imply another vessel entered the Immaterial as we passed by?”

The serf would swallow loudly, beads of sweat running down his brow as he nods rapidly,

“A-Aye Commodore, we are attempting to gather more information but as it stands we are being trailed by an unknown vessel, whilst we suspect it may be not of Imperial origin-”

The serf’s words are cut short as the entire ship violently lurches, several working deck-serfs are cast from their places and the collection of officers, save for the hulking form of the Magos Gretia, would be knocked from their feet.

Tomas stumbles forward, working to catch himself on a computing-bank and console station of a serf that had been thrown free and down the aisle. He’d glance up and around in confused start, as his attention is drawn towards the vast armored viewport laid before them, and into the Immaterial beyond them, as he furiously clung to the solid console before him.

Beyond the safety of the armored viewport, the immaterial would roil and heave, vast violet and scarlet waves would heave and churn not unlike that of the sea in the midsts of a furious storm. The towering and colossal plums of shifting faces and distorted gnawing maws would swirl about and eddy before the peaked bow of the vast Imperial warship. However as Tomas stared forth, he noticed a rippling and heaving wave of this immaterial smoke racing towards the vessel, as it seems their bedraggled battle-group was now at the heart of a fledgling warpstorm as the immaterial sea around them violently wretched and heaved at their presence.

Tomas would cast his gaze to the various displays around him, spying worrying reports from the vessels in their formation as they fared no better in the roiling waves of the Immaterium. However, his focus was broken as a blinding flash of silver-white light would erupt before the vessel’s viewport, the shimmering and redolent light would flare brightly, forcing Tomas to strain his vision as he peered through the light, spying moving forms and wards. Within the blinding light would be dancing hexagrammic wards and sigils of the ancient and potent Gellar Field, these venerable wards and runes would crawl across the vessel akin to a mighty bulwark that protected the vessel from the uncontained energies from the sea of raw chaos beyond their hull.

Tomas however felt a tightening knot in the pit of his stomach, as the shimmering and resplendent wards of the Gellar Field would shine brightly, before faltering, their hues and silver-white light fading away till it was but bare hull and the infinite malice of the chaotic seas around them. Foley would rise to his feet uneasily, reflexively placing his hand starkly upon the las-pistol at his hip, glancing around as the deck-crew remained utterly silent in shock.

Tomas felt a dawning dread awaken within him as he lunges into action, passing by the downed deck-serf to the bank of cogitators arrayed before him. He’d stare down at the console in muted terror as he spies several display screens, each of them crying out that the Gellar Field not just for their vessel but the fleet was reporting much the same, their sole bulwark from the nightmarish horrors of the realm of Chaos, was no more.

The Lieutenant’s training kicks in as he casts his gaze over his shoulder, calling back to the collection of officers with a tinge of panic in his voice.

“S-Sires! The Gellar Fields has failed across the spectrum of the fleet! We are laid bare before the Immaterial, your orders?”

The collection of officers would slowly exchange looks with one another, The grizzled face of Bulgraff would snap back into focus, his usual stoicism unbowed and unfailing as he barks out into his comms-bead “All hands, begin sweeps of your decks, search for boarders and make ready! …” He’d glance over to Jalah and then to Major Bruma a scowl on his face as they stare dumbfounded at him as he unholsters an weathered plasma pistol, thumbing on the weapon as its energy coils shimmer a deep blue. “... Well don’t just stand there, get back to your regiments! Come on you dogs, do you need orders from the Holy Terra itself, move out!”

The startling inactivity would have been broken by the Lord Commissars call to action, the duo of Imperial Guard officers would snatch up their arms and race out following on the heels of the bellowing Commissar as he rallied them.

Tomas would stagger fully to his feet, calling out for Major Bruma and trying to move to join his side till the booming call from Commodore Terval would ring in his ears.

“Hold Lieutenant! You may join your compatriots in time, I have need of you now. Are you aware where the savior pods are? I need you to head to the aft-side of the vessel and secure them and the chamber there. No one is permitted to utilize them until the order to abandon ship is given, and those pods specifically are reserved for senior level bridge officers. Do you understand your instructions?”

Tomas would lock up suddenly as he was addressed, glancing back towards the Commodore with nearly half a dozen feelings washing over him in an instant as he felt the deck shudder and the distant muffled rumble of weapons fire within the bowls of the ship echoed in his ears, he’d snap to and provide a crisp salute as he forces himself to focus, his voice coming back to him.

“Aye Commodore, I will summon my team and head forth to secure the savior pods.”

Terval would wave a dismissive hand, and indicate sharply to the Magos on deck, a sharp tone in his voice, as he begins to issue orders to the bridge-staff.

“There is no time for such. Magos Gretia, provide the Lieutenant with an element from your escort. In addition I want your Novite Tech-Adapt to accompany them to ensure the pods are functional…” Terval would lean around the right side of his throne, barking out instructions to a pair of armed voids-men that nervously stood at the entrance to the bridge on guard. “Voidsmen Vicktor, Ceres, you are to accompany him as escort, do the Imperial Navy proud. As for you Lieutenant, Throne bless you and may your duty be successful…”

With that the Commodore would turn back to the viewport before him, calling out and being awash with reports from unnatural breaches on the vessels lower decks from beasts of the immaterial, all whilst the bridge-staff make ready to make an emergency transition back into real-space. The Magos would clatter over upon their many machine legs, looming over Tomas as their cold synthesized voice would grate “Instruction: You are to follow the Commodore’s orders, I have alerted my apprentice to this situation, she will meet you whilst on route to the savior pods….” Gretia would turn as well, a short cryptic blurt of machine-code binary would echo across the deck as from one of the many looming shadows would emerge a crimson-cloaked armor clad member of the Skitarii.

The Skitarii ranger would stride forth to stand alongside the Magos, exchanging a binary cant unknowable to those outside the augmented members of the Machine Cult. With a solid and confirming nod, the Skitarii would adjust his galvanic rifle and nod towards Tomas.

“Skitarii 211-Gamma at your command Lt. Foley, let us make haste for our objective, we are to rally with Tech-Priestess Attona at junction B-23, you may lead the way.”

The pair of Voidsmen would shuffle briskly forth, both of them checking over their las-guns as the nearest, a dour face man named Vicktor would thumb the safety off his weapon.

“Aye, Lieutenant, lets haul arse and get those pods, we ain’t fixin to leave the bridge staff alone for too long, so let’s get in there and get the job done.”

His compatriot Ceres, a somewhat sorter lass would nod firmly as well as she slaps home the energy cell for her las-rifle. Tomas would nod between the trio and indicate for them to follow, his movements taking him towards the bridge’s side passage, as he begins to brief them.

“Alright, we stick together, and get ahold of that Tech-Priestess and make our way to our designated operations area. If’n we are lucky they won’t call for evacuation and we can then disperse back into the ship once we make the jump back into real-space.”

The ad-hoc fire team would race forth from the bridge, moving past hastily constructed barricades and similarly mixed rifle-teams that entrenched where they could. The dull drone of Gamma’s voice would bark out instructions on the most optimal route as they hurried their way along the concourse towards their predetermined rally point as the dull rumble of weapons discharged muffled by the vessels titanic form echoing all around. The group would finally reach the outer aft-section of the vessel, the particular corridor they were within having several large armored viewports along the wall to their left.

As the unit would move, Ceres would pause, giving a worried noise as she peers out of the view-station watching the storm-wracked flotilla pitch violently among the churning and increasingly furious fervor of the storm.

“Throne, look at ‘em, their damn well getting mauled out there! This ain’t like no storm I’ve ever seen.”

Tomas would cast his glance to the window, spying the troubled fleet as it was bogged down and seemingly pulled within the churning maw of the Immaterial, one of the escort destroyers along the leading edge of the bedraggled line of ships would be completely aflame, great gouts of brilliant orange and yellow fire would erupt from her inner workings, her viewports blazing brightly as she pitches and rolls forth diving into a churning wave of scarlet-pink immaterial fire, her form spied no more among the churning eddies of the chaotic sea.

“Damnation, and Throne preserve them, but stay focused, if we don’t get to those pods and secure them we will meet a similar fate, we need to keep pushing ahead. The Priestess is roughl-”

The words die in his throat as a shimmering light would bloom forth within the Immaterial sea outside the armored view-port. The entire fire-team would come to a halt dead in their tracks as they stared out in muted silence as the Immaterium itself would reel and retreat from several of the bedraggled ships. Tomas watched a titanic and immeasurably sized wound would appear within the churning sea before one of the nearby troopships. The shimmering violet and midnight black boundary would widen slowly before the bedraggled troopship. Not dissimilar to a yawning maw, a strange door-way would loom open before them into a perfect and mid-night realm, dozens of estranged titanic eyes staring at the seemingly doomed transport ship as it suddenly reels, trying to turn aside from the titanic door-way.

The vast shimmering _sukima_ would yawn forth, eagerly sucking down the fearful transport as it seems to fall into this yawning gap. With the ship away, the vast portal would snap shut as quickly as it came. The raw energy of the Immaterial, visibly recoils and flinches at the sudden and unbidden intrusion into it's feast raging and roiling furiously denied it's prize. The collection of observers would issue their own shocked swears, as Tomas turns toward Gamma and shakily speaks up,

“Him on Earth! Oi! Gamma the hell just happened there, did they manage to make a jump back into real-space?”

The Skitarii would sit there silently, a heavy antenna extending upward from the power-pack that hung heavily on their armored back as the synthetic voice of the augment would convey even the barest pang of fear.

“Negative: Vox traffic suggests that the vessel, _Lucid Fath_ , had lost control of it's engineering, she was doomed. What just happened there: the Magos Gretia has insufficient data to report on the nature of those exit-points. _Lucid Faith_ is lost to us.”

Vicktor would be staring out mutely, his jaw working numbly as he indicates out towards the other struggling vessels of the Flotilla, panic rising in his tone,

“By the Emperor, look there are more of em! This ain’t no jump-point I’ve ever seen! This ain’t the work of no bloody warp-drive!”

As Tomas would cast his gaze once more out the window, he’d spy similar _sukima_ opening all around the fleet, the twisted and broken gaze of hundreds of faux eyes seeming to watch the ships unerringly. Slowly he’d watch the near half dozen ships vanish into these yawning gaps.

One of the nearest ships, a stout destroyer would engage it's retro-grade thrusters, bursting away from a yawning _sukima_ before it, jinking aside before a far larger one would wink into existence below it. The slight destroyer suddenly plummets downward in free-fall as if the forces of gravity suddenly had stank it's talons on the stout escort craft and hauled it down, as suddenly as they came the _sukima_ would silently slide closed after the vessel disappeared within its inky abyss.

The aligned soldiers would stare out in awe-struck disbelief, shortly before the tendrils of the immaterial withdrew below them from their own vessel. Tomas gaze moved downward far below their own vessel, watching as a titanic _sukima_ would appear as a fine line before opening like an eye before the vast form of their venerable warship. Down far deep within this gap, did innumerable unblinking eyes as faint shimmers of color would move across the abyss of midnight black like fractals of color. Suddenly the sizable warship would shudder, as the sudden feeling of weightlessness would bloom within Tomas’s gut.

The heavy clank of the mag-tread boots of the Skitarii would jar the Lieutenant back into the real world,as the voice of Gamma speaks up sharply,

“Warning instructions to be relayed: The vessel has somehow entered free-fall, her drives are unresponsive. All hands brace yourselves”

The warning came too late, as sudden forces of gravity would cause the hulking cruiser to drop like a stone in a pond. Tomas would watch as the scarlet and rose waves of the Immaterial flew past the window, his own hands reaching out to grasp upon a conduit that ran along the side of the corridor. He’d feel weight-less once more, unmistakably as if he’d leaped out of one of the drop-ship Valkyries for a jump.

He’d bark out an order for them to hold onto something, only to watch as Vicktor pinwheels upward, striking the ceiling with a heavy crack of flak armor to steel, enough to knock him out cold and limp. He could hear the binary clatter from the Skitarii as it seemed to pray to the Omnissiah, it's mag-tread boots keeping its robed form anchored to the deck motionless, as the world falls out beneath them. Kei meanwhile clinging to the Skitarii’s robes and powerpack to try and steady herself as the world races by the view port.

The scene outside the viewport would change abruptly, the unending black and mottled hue of the abyss and those terrifying unblinking eye-like structures would vanish away as the blinding light of a star filled the corridor. The sudden and stark change would force Tomas to blink and glance away till his eyes adjusted to the natural light. When he gazed forth once more back out the viewport, the scene before him was certainly the last possible thing he could have expected.

Beyond the cracked armor of the view-port he could spy the certainly a distinct curve, betraying the presence of planetary body of which they now hurtled down towards. The vast expanse of this realm was bright and vibrant green, with specks of bright and luminous colors. Vast flora and dense tree canopies of green stretched for miles all around, with only the vaguest hint of deep azure would betray naturally occuring deep pristine lake and river tributaries that flow from them.

Blazing brightly in the distance between the cusp of day and night would two celestial bodies turn, the first them a warm and yellow hued star who’s gentle rays would caress the face of the Lieutenant as he peered through the viewport. As the realm below turned slowly to night, caught between this soft twilight, a single orbital body of pure silver, pock-marked with impact crates would graciously move to take the place of the solar body as they graciously traded places with one another within the clear blue sky.

Something deep and instinctive within Tomas would stirr, some awoken feeling of nostalgia would ebb into the pit of his stomach as the link to this primordial place within the cloistered would stirr up ancient ancestral memories within him, giving him an unbidden sense of yearning. The last thought that entered his head before the world raced up to meet him would be almost silly and whimsical in contrast to the dire situation he found himself within. As the deck races back upward to meet him, he muses.

_Why does it feel so unsettling familiar?_


	4. Chapter 3 - Out of the Fire

**\\\ ++ :: Beginning Scene Reconstruction :: ++ /**

**[:: Inloading Data-Packet; Lt. Tomas Foley :: ]**

**\\\ ++ :: Continue Record Playback :: ++ /**

The last thing Tomas could recall would be the sight of the vibrant world beyond the view-port and the cold grated steel of the deck-plating racing upward to crash against him. He’d stir slightly, blearily blinking and trying to clear his vision as he places a hand upon the deck, slowly pushing himself over onto his back. The intense pain that wracked his frame caused him to double over, shuddering as the very bones within his body implored him to remain inert. 

Such a luxury was not available to him, as a shifting blur would kneel down alongside him, faintly the image would resolve as he focuses his gaze slowly making out the image before him. He was staring at the hooded face of the Skitarii, the crimson robe somewhat torn and frayed, the steel lenses and heavy rebreather covering the entirety of his face in dull burnished steel, as Gamma would reach over with an artificial hand, his bionic limbs clicking as it grabs hold of Tomas’s collar, giving him a violent shake, as his synthesized voice would echo from the vox unit built into his rebreather.

“Lieutenant, you have not suffered any significant damage to vital organ structures, therefore you are alive and well. Alert: The Cogitators aboard the vessel report we have entered the gravity well of a previously uncharted world, however interference is present. Location: Unknown. Addendum: My auspex sensors are reporting weapons discharge a dozen meters from our location: I postulate that the Tech-Priestess Attona is under attack due to binary cant broadcast she is emitting. We must escalate our efforts to reach her.”

Lt. Foley would be jarred about as the world sharply resolves before him, fighting off the greying edges of his vision as he hauls himself upright. He’d nod along with Gamma as he updated him to their current predicament, casting an errant glance to see that Ceres and Vicktor were groggily getting to their feet and fumbling to recover their weapons from the jarring impact. As Gamma would finish, Tomas would reach over and recover the las-pistol that had fallen from his holster on impact, thumbing on its power cell as it thrums in his palm. 

“Y-yeah I got ya Gamsie, Alright head need to get moving then, ain’t no point is dallying about. Ceres and Vicktor, take point, we are two junctions down from the Priestess and the Cog-Boy here is saying we got gunfire. Let’s move.” 

He’d rise shakily to his boots, as Vicktor and Ceres would recover their arms and jog past him, heading further down the corridor, their void-armor clanking and causing a dull din in the otherwise silent hall. Tomas would give Gamma a solid slap on the flat lorica style shoulder guard of the Skitarii before indicating ahead, another errant glance cast out the window, revealing the tattered state of the vessel as the flames of re-entry would lap and bite at her aged hull. Tomas would call back to Gamma as they headed forth,

“Oi, Gamma, what’s the status of the ship has the Magos issued any updates?”

The Skitarii would move briskly in pace with Tomas, his bionic and artificial legs working effortlessly to keep pace with the Lt. He’d cast a glance with his hooded head towards Foley and speak up curtly.

“Negative: But judging by the vox-chatter, I am to understand that the forward batteries have fallen to an unknown attacker. Addendum: The Magos has confirmed there are seditious elements within the crew, as menials from the lower decks have raided the armories there and are fighting Guard units within the vessel.”

Tomas would grimace as they moved to stack up with Voidsmen as they reached one of the nearby junctions, the two Voidsmen would move to either side of the four-way split in the corridor, clearing either side before they signal for their compatriots it was clear. The quartet would move rapidly down several of the auxiliary/support corridors, the bare and exposed conduit and wiring would bear the tell-tale scarring of las-rifle fire and deep pockmarks of auto-gun slugs. As ever so swiftly did the the barking rumble of auto-gun fire grow closer and closer. 

As the quarter would reach the final junction they would finally fall into sight of their Tech-Priestess in question, however they would hold themselves off within the cover of several inlets and bulk-heads whilst observing the furious exchange unfolding before them.

The Priestess had managed to gather up a fair collection of heavy munition crates and had hastily welded them together into an ad-hoc barricade. Several heavy wall plating had been cut away, and used to re-enforce the crudely formed defensive position with surprising effectiveness. The crimson robed form of the tech-adapt would be hunkered down behind the thick slab of the corridor’s paneling, her own heavily augmented and armored form would be pitted and scarred with glancing auto-gun shells and the blackened marks where las-bolts had impacted and warped the plating. 

As the quartet watched, a figure would race down one of the adjacent corridors, clad in the plain grey cover-alls of one of the lower deck menials. The menial would race towards the barricade howling like mad as he clasped a crude auto-gun tightly in his fist, blasting away wildly as he charged. As he’d reach the edge of the barricade, the Priestess would spring upright, upon her back were several clanking servo-arms, grafted augments with repair equipment ready for use. She would have one of these additional servo-arms to lunge over her shoulder with a closed vice into the man’s face, causing him to stagger and halt the fire from his weapon. With a crisp action, she’d snap up a las-pistol in her grip and squeeze off several shots, causing the man to crumple motionless before her as she ducks back down into cover as a hailstorm of auto-gun shots would ripple across her faltering barricade. 

Tomas would sharply indicate to the two Voidsmen, as he moves up alongside them, gesturing towards the end of the corridor. 

“Alright, you two, move to the end and start throwing las-bolts down that bloody corridor, force em to keep their heads down. Once they are…” He’d cast a glance over to Gamma, and indicate between the two of them, “... You and I are gonna grab the Priestess and cross to the corridor beyond her, as that is where we need to be headed. After that, we lean from that corridor edge, and throw shots down the corridor so that Viktor and Ceres can cross and move to us, after that we bolt for the savior pod chamber, questions?”

Vicktor and Ceres would sharply nod, with the former reaching up to drop down a visor over his face as a wordless acknowledgement. The duo would move forward and stack themselves at the corridor’s edge, with Ceres knelt and Vicktor standing, they would wait till the torrent of shots slowed from their unseen attackers, before leaning out and firing.

True to their instruction, both of the las-rifles would release a hissing torrent of las-fire down range, the air filled with the scent of o-zone as the rifles chatter and spit crimson bolts towards the traitorous menials, whom halt their fire and cower behind what cover they can. With the menials distracted, Gamma and Tomas would rapidly move, crossing the corridor as swiftly as they can, each step causing Tomas heartbeat to thunder in his chest, as he watches the Priestess position grow closer and closer. 

The Priestess Attona would rise up, taking note of the the lull in fire, to squeeze off a few shots herself, before Tomas arrives and takes hold of her shoulder, wordlessly indicating to the corridor opposite his team. With a brisk nod, the Priestess would move with Tomas and Gamma, the latter leveling his galvanic rifle down the corridor and squeezing off a shot as a arching bolt of shark azure, that would streak down the corridor and strike one of the menials as they lean forth from cover. The man was kicked back and thrown back into the shadow of the corridor beyond. 

As the trio successfully at the designated corridor, they would equally lean out and cast errant shots down the corridor, Tomas and Attona squeezing off las-bolts from their side-arms as swiftly as possible as deadly bolts of blue light would race down the corridor precisely from Gamma’s long rifle, unerringly precise in it's accuracy and effect. With the Priestess secure, Vicktor and Ceres would pull away from the safety of their cover, hastily moving across the corridor to join their companions.

Vicktor would stagger however, as an errant shot from a blind fired auto-gun would strike his void-armored side, kicking out a shower of sparks as he staggers and fights to keep upright. He’d manage to clear the corridor and stagger wheezing sharply as he placed his hand over the impact point, the shot having failed to penetrate the armor, but certainly carried enough kinect force to knock the wind from him and bruise his ribs.

With the group assembled fully, they would throw a few more lingering shots down the corridor towards the menials, giving Vicktor time to recover and catch his breath, before Tomas barks out his orders.

“Alright we are clear, get moving to the chamber, it's just up-ahead, once we are in, Attona seal the door and lock us in.”

And with that the contingent would race down the corridor heading for the distant set of blast-doors. Their bootsteps rang as they raced by carbon scored steel and twisted conduit and paneling, several deep marks betraying the use of explosives. Tomas would grit his teeth, something wasn’t adding up, if this was the best the traitors could muster, then how in the Emperor’s light could they have lost the forward weapon batteries of the ship? 

The first of their group to reach the corridor’s end would be Tomas himself, he’d clear the final bulk-head and find himself standing with the savior-pod bay light by the dull red of the emergency lighting. Across the far side of the wall, would be the entry hatches for nearly a dozen savior-pods meant for the bridge crew of the ship. The nearby cogitator would be patiently thrumming and idly waiting for input as Tomas would direct Gamma and Ceres over to it, his binary cant curt as he begins to check over the status of the savior pods.

Meanwhile, Attona rapidly works at the controls for the doors as the vast and heavy slab of adamantite would slide ponderously closed, with the last straggler Viktor managing to leap over the slowly rising slab of reinforced doorway’s locks. Tomash would lean out, squeezing off a few extra shots down the corridor as he spied the menials massing at the far end where they had come from. He’d throw his glance towards Attona as the door closes at a rate he swore must have been a jest.

“Attona! Close this damnable bulk-head! The traitors are massing and the last thing I want is for them to push us whilst we are exposed here!”

He swiftly kneels down behind the slowly rising section of the bulk-head’s door, as amidst the whistle and coughing chatter of the distant autoguns, a deep thunderous bassy boom would echo from the menials end of the corridor. Tomas’s eyes widen as he watches a shrieking bolt of fire scream down the corridor as if towards him, a shrieking gyro-jet bolter shell vomiting orange-yellow flames from it would streak down the corridor’s length and impact against the door, several inches from Tomas’s face. He’d pull his head back, as the shell detonates casting hot white hot shards of molten steel in all directions. These hot shards peppering his face and the heat flaring against his face as he collapses backward. His good eye would open and stare down the corridor as his face grows deathly pale.

Towering head and shoulder above the hunched form of the menials they cowered beyond the distant corridors edge, a towering shadow would loom forth. The indistinct figures heavy and wide pauldrons and armor clad form radiated and aura of dreadful fear as he stared at unmistakable form of a the monstrous Astarte’s figure born from the depths of his worst nightmares. This towering warrior would take another step down the corridor, a squat and heavy bolter tightly in their grip as they fire again, the mass-reactive shell racing forth and exploding against the closing doorway, as the figure draws closer, cloaked in the shadow from the fading illuminators overhead. 

The last thing Tomas saw, he could have sworn was his own terrified face staring back him him, from the hulking figures glowing crimson visor upon its helm, shortly before the heavy and bulky slabs of adamantite would slam closed, their various heavy locks sealing and groaning as Attona shifts and steps back, nodding as the door-panel reports it's sealing with a trio of audible tones. The Priestess would glance down at Tomas, who was visibly shaking and kneel down to inspect him, her own voice, whilst amplified by a vox built into a rebreather she wore, would be entirely human.

“Lieutenant? Are you well, you have received indirect damage to your organic frame. Do you require medical attention for your injuries?”

Tomas would reach up with a shaky hand and grab hold of Attona’s robe’s heem, indicating towards the door with fear written upon his face,

“Did… Did you see it?! Down the corridor! With the traitors! Did you see it damn it!”

Attona would pause, reaching down to pry Foley’s hand from her oil stained red robe, before she glances at the sealed bulkhead, then back to the panic stricken officer. 

“Negative: I know not what you're speaking of? What did you see? If it was more of the traitors I am not surprised, their numbers had been growing since they first caught me trying to make my way here to the savior pods.”

Tomas shook his head, indicating towards the door as he fights to get his breathing under control, the unrelenting terror of that glowing visor burned into his mind as he slowly collects himself, pushing himself up to into a seated position.

“N-No, it was an Astarte, a damnable Astarte…. It tried to kill me! It was a Traitorous Legionnaire… A-An thrice damned Angel of Death, there to clever my soul for it's foul masters. You heard that shot, it was a bolter, unmistakably!”

Attona would watch him, expression unreadable as she shakes her head, moving to clasp Tomas’s shoulder and haul him to his feet. A quick brush of her hand knocks away the fragments of metal left from the initial bolter shells impact. 

“Lt. Foley, you are suffering from combat induced hallucinations, which are entirely believable given the combat situation your men endured back on Ichorous V and now here due to this mutiny. I can confirm I did hear the distinctive bark of a bolter, but more than likely it was merely recovered by one of the menials and put into use against us. You are in charge of this unit, kindly recover command and issue further orders. We cannot risk losing your capability to combat induced stress. Are you with me, Lieutenant?” 

Tomas would place his hand against his face, feeling the slight heat-burn from the explosive shells reaction so close to his face. He’d stare at the heavy blast-door and nod gruffly, knowing full well she was indeed right, as they all were counting on him to get the situation back on its feet. He’d glance over to spy Ceres and Vicktor watching Gamma rapidly work at the control console as he cants in binary and exchanges data with the information terminal along the wall. 

Tomas would rise to his feet with the aid of Attona before moving alongside the trio huddled before the data-terminal. Tomas would clear his dry throat and speak up as he worked to regain his composure. 

“Alright Gamma, give us the news, update our instructions and tell us what our new orders are.”

Gamma would pause for a moment, as if taking in some unseen and unexpected instruction, as he unteethers himself from the data-terminal, wheeling about to address the group in a flat and monotone artificial voice.

“Objectives Updated: Magos Gretia has instructed all Adaptus Mechanicus elements to abandon ship, this instruction is final. Addendum: Commodore Terval has issued the orders to abandon ship. The vessel is in a decaying orbit, combat reports indicate that the engine room is lost, we are falling. Precise orders for our unit were not provided: As all attempts to query the bridge have failed… Thus the next step falls to you Lieutenant.”

Tomas would glance at the tired and weary faces of the Voidsmen before him, and the stoic unmoving expressions of the Skitarii and Priestess. He shifts and takes a step back, placing his hand atop his helmet, as he glances back towards the sealed bulkhead, his jaw working as he mulls over his options. Before anything, he’d tap his comms-bead in his ear, only to be greeted by hissing static. So they truly were on their own.

Lt. Foley would nod his head slowly, and indicate to Gamma with a slow raise of the hand,

“Alright, get the savior pods, online. We are gonna take one of em down planet side and try and rally up with whatever the hell is able to get off this ship. Once there we will get further orders. More than likely senior level officers have already been able to make it out of here as they were headed back to the hanger. We need to find them and add our numbers to their rosters. Questions?”

Ceres would pause, glancing around as the rest of the group nods their affirmation, Gamma moving over to prep the nearest pod for launch, as she speaks up quickly a wavering worry in her voice.

“But, Lieutenant, what about the bridge staff? We can’t just abandon them up there by themselves. Shouldn’t we head back and at least try and escort them back to the pods?”

Tomas shook his head, giving Attona and Vicktor a pat on their shoulders indicating towards the waiting pod. As the two of them move off and board the craft, Tomas would gingerly take hold of Ceres shoulder.

“Voidsmen, your courage is admirable, inspiring even. But there is a at least two fire-teams worth of menials outside of that door along with heavy weapons. If we open that door, they flood in here and we lose control of the chamber and we end up dead. Our best bet is to get planetside and rally with those that remain…” His tone softens, knowing full well that Voidsmen swear from their inception to their post to protect their fellows and officers unwaveringly “... But this ain’t no simulation or drill, and if you end up getting caught by the menials, you being dead won’t help them folks on the bridge. We’ve done what we can, now we have to survive.”

Ceres would stare forlornly at the sealed blast-door for a few long moments before nodding her head numbly, turning round to head back for the open pod, a numb affirmation of his orders all he received. 

With the other secured, Tomas would move over to Gamma over at the data-terminal and slap his hand upon his shoulder, gesturing to the craft, to which the Skitarii would wordlessly disconnect from the terminal and move with the Lieutenant into the crafts cramped interior. Nestled on either side of a cramped interior would nearly a dozen seats with heavy crash-harnesses for each. The group would move quickly and take spaced seats from one another as Gamma moves into the flight control throne. With several nimble dances of his augmented hand upon the surface of the control display, the heavy door at the pods aft would slam closed with a hiss. 

Tomas would take his seat at the head of the pod, nearest to Gamma as he snags hold of the data-display hung on a swivel arm, and brings it level to his face, a few quick taps and the pic-capture pods on the outside of the pod would whir to life. A few heart beats more and the explosive release of the savior’s pods claps would release, the sudden kick of g-forces shoving Tomas back into his crash-harness as he watched the screen before him as it shook violently. 

The pod was spiraling away from the vast form of the wounded cruiser, fires billowed from various damaged sections of the ship’s hull, the heavy hanger bays had slid open and out from them soared dense shoals of smaller craft, ranging from the fat and stubby strike craft of Imperial Thunderbolts, to the squat and angular forms of Valkyries, the Imperial forces would be scattering like rats from a sinking ship. As he watched, savior pods began to erupt from all over the ship, soaring out and weaving among one another as they raced towards the twilight of the late evening of the planet below.

A sudden explosion would ripple across the vast frame of the ancient warship as the heavy broadside batteries just before the warships bladed prow would ripple and explode outward in a thunderous roar, the vast weapons swung heavy in their mounts before either being sheared away by the blast or sinking down into the hull. As Tomas would watch the vast form of the wounded and doomed vessel would suddenly lurch to life, it's main drives firing as she slowly turns herself into the decent course she was taking towards the planet far below. 

Tomas would balk and call out to Gamma as the buffeting waves of turbulence would rock and buck the fat form of the savior pods,

“Gamma! What on Terra is the ship doing? Is Commodore Terval still in control of the  _ Blade of Woe _ ? What is that madman doing?”

Gamma would pull his attention away from the controls of the vessel, his grip upon the yoke as he flatly replies.

“Confirmed: Magos Gretia reports that he opted to remain behind with some of the bridge crew, he will be attempting to bring the vessel down as he is trying to preserve what material is aboard for salvage after it makes it's decent.”

Tomas would pause and shake his head, watching as the wounded warship refuses to bow, and slowly maneuvers herself down towards the terrain far below her with as much grace and dignity she can muster. Lt. Foley would merely give a silent prayer for the noble Commodore, hopeful he would be able to thank him in person for the nobility of this work he has elected to undertake.

This revere is sharply shattered when Gamma leans back and rattles another report off to Tomas, an air of unease even on his monotone voice.

“Warning: Incoming unidentified contacts from the surface. We have breached the atmosphere, there are several unknown contacts on an intercept course for our vessel.”

Tomas would reach upward and rapidly tap the controls of the pic-caster before him, the display flickering as the pod has dropped deep into the atmosphere. Faintly he can see indistinct forms racing up from the earth on a course for them and the fleeing Imperials flight craft that poured forth from the doomed mothership. 

Gamma would pause, before frantically adjusting several of the controls laid before him, and hauling the yoke aside as the savior pod dips heavily to the right, his urgency rising,

“Warning!: Unidentified contacts are not replying to hails on Imperial broad-band vox network. Addendum: Optical observation reveals…” Gamma pauses almost as if in disbelief, “Warning! Warning! Incoming contacts are airborne via unknown means, single man-sized targets are flying unassisted and engaging with energy weapons! Beginning evasive maneuvers.”

The Skitarii would roll hard to the left, as a dull clatter echoes off the outer skin of the escape craft. The pod is soon bathed in bright red light as a blistering bolt of energy of yellow-red hue shrieks through the armored skin of the pod, melting and boiling a hole in it before rifling out the opposite side. Several more follow suit as the rear most engines of the escape craft sputter and erupt in a ball of fire. The rear of the vessel is aflame as dozens of holes have appeared across the ships hull, a dense black cloud rolling from the rear of the ship that marks it's path across the sky. 

Tomas would cast a glance as the pod violently shakes up towards Gamma and the front window, the front view-port peppered with holes the size of a human finger, Gamma’s firm grip on the controls betraying his unnoticed damage as a rivulet of crimson would weep from a several penetrating hole in his armored lorica’s side. Beyond the view-port the dense canopy of green would race up to meet them at terrifying speeds, 

Gamma would placidly and calmly intone a binary cant, of which Tomas could swear was tantamount to a prayer as he manually drew back the throttle, the nose of the savior pod erupting in a ball of fire as the retro-grade landing thrusters erupt in fire. The G-force would slam Tomas against his harness hard enough for him to black out, his fellow occupants not faring much better as the earth and ground reached up and shattered the cock-pits viewport and welcomed the flaming pod into its embrace at a speed no mortal could ever wish to endure.

With the groan of twisted hull plating and the shattering crack of branches from the trees over the earth, the savior pod would crash down into the soft earth below, skipping once as it crashes through and incinerates shrubs and small plant life, before it would nose down into a small creek bed, is frame coming to rest as roiling clouds of smoke would billow up into the nights sky as the forests quiet slowly returned once more. 


	5. Chapter 4 - An Unexpected Encounter

**\\\ ++ :: Beginning Scene Reconstruction :: ++ /**

**[:: Inloading Data-Packet; Lt. Tomas Foley :: ]**

**\\\ ++ :: Continue Record Playback :: ++ /**

The swirling darkness would churn before Tomas as he feels weightless and floating within an endless void, the embrace of unawareness and unconsciousness would swirl about him like waves upon the shore, lapping over him as he lays motionless upon the the shores of his own mind. His ears perked at the gentle sound of lapping waves as he dreams still of his home so far away it seemed like a halcyon dream. His fingers would twitch as he lay there, the sudden sensation of cold pin pricks of sensation would wash across his back. He’d twitch and frown curtly, couldn’t he be left alone for but a moment to just enjoy this peaceful bliss of oblivion.

The cosmos clearly had other things in mind as he feels a heavy weight press down upon his stomach, he’d grown and feel himself groggily rising back to the waking world. He found himself upon his back on the side of the creek-bed, his back resting in the cool shallow stream in the mud, he’d cough a few times as the pressure adjusted itself, his eyes snapping open as the haze faded from. They had escaped, the savior pod, his team! 

Tomas would open his eyes and reach up with a gloved hand to try and push the weight off his chest, eyes clasped closed as the soreness from the impact gnawed at him, a particular twinge of his right shoulder leading him to suspect his shoulder must have dislocated in the crash. His armored glove would brush against a heavy cloth object laid upon his chest. He’d finally open his eyes and blink away the bleariness, staring up at a perfectly starry sky. He tilts his head up only to find a heavy pack, far too large for most common humans to bear sitting upon his chest. He wheezes and rolls to the side, moving to shove the heavy pouch off of him.

Foley would raise his hand to his face and wipe away the slick mud stuck to him as he swiftly takes in the scene. The pod sat nose down in a muddy creek, with towering and imposing trees all around, that loomed over the muddy gully he found himself in. With a shaky hand he pushes himself upright, all whilst scanning the length of the creek, failing to catch sight of the team he’d arrived with.

“Bloody hell, they better not have left me.”

He moves to head for the pod to gather his gear before his boot strikes something, he’d glance down just in time to spy the form of a voidsmen helm would have rolled itself a short distance away and lopped to its side in the stream and mud. He felt his heart thunder in his chest as the cracked visor of the helm would be none other than that of Vicktor’s own. He reacts from the gut and his hand comes down to his thigh-holster only to grasp at empty air. His face pales starkly as he cast his gaze around, trying to locate the weapon. He is only to spy the gently flowing stream and the heavy pack that had been laid upon him, dense cluster of wire bundles and torn hull-plating from the savior pod seemed to hang out from it's open top. 

Lt. Foley shuffles over, boots sucking into the mud as he reaches down for the pack only to realize as he does so, from the corner of his eye a flicker of movement amid the smoke writhed form of the crashed savior pod would make itself known. He freeze and slowly turns his head to face the open hatchway of the pod. Amid the smoke wreathed form of the wreck, nearly filling the doorway would be what he could only describe as the voluminous bobbing hue of deep browns and hazel of a large animals tail, The bushy form would sweep to and fro as whatever it was attached to clearly rooted around within the confines of the downed savior pod.

He’d look around for anything to use as a weapon, before slowly peering down at his boot, the visible edge of the bayonet affixed within a special sheath formed as part of the carapace greaves he wore. He’d reach down and quietly grasp hold of the blade hilt, the dull hiss of adamantite on the sheath would whisper as he pulls the bayonet free. Keeping himself low, he’d move forward at an even pace, his careful bootsteps ensuring that he doesn’t alert the creature as he moves carefully in the ankle deep water. He’d close within an arms length of the bushy tail, the ringed form of such would flick and dance in the air before him. His eyes strain as he tries to make out what was behind such, but the choking smoke from the burnt out pod engines made such difficult. 

The tail would altogether stop it's movements, freezing part way through one of it's eager swaying, of which Tomas then lunged forward, hand outstretched and poised to snag hold of the tail and haul the creature free from the pod as the flicker of the blackened steel would sweep through the air. 

Much to his shock, the tail would curl back and sweep out towards him, striking him full in the chest and to his horror, bringing him to a dead-stop. The tail follows through and sweeps aside sending Tomas sailing back towards the embankment behind him, wind knocked from his lungs and a muted look of horror upon his face. He impacts against the muddy and root covered bank of the creek and coughs as the armor issues a resounding cacophony as he slumps back onto his back, his knife having been left spinning in the air before embedding itself within the mud just outside of the savior-pods door. 

The tailed would sweep about, before fully emerging back into the creek, the veil of smoke falling away as a fairly tall female figure would emerge. Tossed over her shoulder would be a heavy satchel, filled to the brim with various instruments and scrap components from the downed savior-pods internal systems. Clad in a fairly plain but well crafted dress of earthen hue, the figure would possess a wide almost natural looking rich leaf atop a messy and shoulder length of light brown hair, a pair of twitching animal ears peeking up above such. The lengthy and billowing ringed tail would sweep about as the lass would glance over to the downed form of Tomas, a single finger pushing up a pair of wide bifocals further up her nose. A firm and almost playfully chiding tone ebbing from her as she speaks up. Tomas, meanwhile, all but watched in dazed and muted horror as the creature spoke.

“Tsk Tsk, a good effort I will admit, but I don’t recall outsiders being so rude when it comes to trying to get the attention of another. Outsiders these days, I swear they grow more and more ignorant by the day…”

Tomas shakes his head as the strip tailed figure would address him, his move to haul himself upright, raising a hand as he indicates for her to stay back and away from him. 

“W-What? You stay back there y-you abominable thing, how did you know I was there?”

The strip tailed bake-danuki would reach down and tap the side of her sandal, and indicate towards Tomas, a satisfied grin on her face as she slings the pack of her newly pilfered goods over her shoulder.

“C’mon kid, your boots aren’t the quietest, besides your walking around with more metal round yourself, than most folks have for their entire kitchen. Not sure why you're all dressed up, can’t quite say I’ve ever seen someone as funnily dressed as yourself, I guess it takes all kinds to make up the Outside World.” 

Tomas furrows his brow, moving to rise shakily to his feet, as he indicates towards the stranger, a hand indicating towards her and then all around. 

“I’ve not the time for condescension, I…. “ He glances around, fighting and trying to find the words to speak, as mind numbly tried to work through the current situation. His mind desperately trying to claw through hundreds of questions that roared to mind and fought for his attention “... Who are you supposed to be or what better yet. You can understand me and speak Low Gothic? Is this... is there an Imperial presence here in this world?”

The lass would pause a crook a playful smile, as she casually strolls over to her other bag, tossing them together with a satisfied clap of her hand, before glancing back towards Tomas, idly listening to him try and work through his thoughts.

She’d wheel in place and that large bushy tail would coiling beneath her as she’d take a seat upon it, watching him with an unblinking focus as she adjusts her glasses once as she watches him fumble about clearly bemused 

“Mhmm, now tis rude to ask a lady such personal questions, but considering your time is ticking here anyway here, I’ll give you what you need and not a drop more…” She would lean forth and gesture towards him, indicating further down the creekbed. “... Mamizou is the name, lets keep it informal since I got a feelin’ you're not the type to mince words and waste time. Second off, bake-danuki, that’s what I am, you can tell by my lovely regal tail.”

She’d snap her fingers and indicate towards him as she reclines atop the frightfully powerful tail of hers. Her bemused gaze watching the reaction of ten thousand emotions race across Tomas’s face almost simultaneously. 

“Hmmm, as for how can I understand ya? Meh, who really knows. I’ve heard a lot of languages in my time. Some of em just sort of rolls off the tongue, might have to do with some of the other yokai meddling with you and your folks behind the scenes as your arrival is the very definition of abnormal, but that’s not really important now, is it? As for this whole, “Imperial” thing you're talking about, I’d answer that with I’ve not a clue in the slightest of what you're speaking of.”

Mamizou would beam cheerfully, her ear twitching as the dull roar in the distance drew her gaze upwards to the sky, a slight frown pitching itself upon her face as she watches bright streaks of light and the roaring forms of Imperial Thunderbolt squadrons dueling and sparring with nimble and inhumanly fast figures high in the skies above. Tomas would crane his neck upward, as he spies dense shoals of Imperial navy craft working to escort down the flocks of Valkyries that had escaped the  _ Blade of Woe _ . 

He’d sigh tiredly, watching the bright lances of azure light and the sparks of fire dance high overhead, as he worked his jaw. 

“Alright, well that ain’t the best news to say the least. So tell me this Mamizou, ya said my time was ticking, you telling me I got a target on my back?”

As he glances back towards the Bake-danuki, she would merely wave her hand, an almost sympathetic look in her eyes as she watches him, as she casually responds to his inquiries.

“Not from me at least, can’t say it's really worth my time. Technically since you're an outsider, and I’m a yokai I have the right to eat you at my leisure. But frankly, I never really felt the need to flaunt my powers against those weaker than myself save for a few times here and there. In truth consider that thrashing by my tail a firm warning, not to underestimate the yokai around here, or else you’ll wind up in someone's gullet.”

Tomas would, slowly relax his stance, his breathing stills as he comes down from the adrenaline rush of his failed surprise attack. He’d listen to her words, still watching her inwardly conflicted as a deeply seated pang of disgust for the sole regard she was an abhuman, a pollution of the purity of the human form. However, he knew full well not to spit in face of a friendly face in the cold and unforgiving galaxy he’d long dwelled within. With a nod, he moves over to his fallen bayonet and recover it, moving to wipe the mud from the blade as he glances back over towards Mamizou, after several long moments, he’d incline his head as a show of thanks.

“Mhmm, then I owe you for your words of warning and impromptu teaching lesson. So tell me then, Mamizou, what happened to the others that were in the pod when I crashed? It's absolutely imperative that I find them and get them someplace safe, as their my responsibility. I’d wager you might know of some place safe to hunker down in till this situation settles down at least?”

Her cool and laid back facade would crack for but a hairsbreadth of a moment, as genuine moment of her being pleasantly surprised would cross her countenance. She’d nod her head along to his words, whilst she graciously waves off his gratitude out of modesty, she idly strokes her chin as she would muse for a moment or two. 

“Your friends, well, when I arrived they had dragged you out and laid you over there. Started talking about getting some help as they piddled off…” She indicates further along the creek bed downstream. “...Vaguely in that direction, looks like they wanted to head along the waters flow, probably looking for others of your kind that keep arriving in those awful roaring tin cans you all seem to be buzzing all over with. “ 

She would pause for but a moment, her face growing a touch cold as she glances towards Tomas, a sinking feeling forming in his gut.

“Though, I did spy that one yokai lingering around these parts, a bit far from the lake she frequents I will admit. Blond haired lass that flies about in the ball of shadow during the day, has a nasty streak of attacking humans from what I hear. She was stalking their trail last I saw. Can’t say I really wanted to get involved or else folks will accuse me of getting all soft on the humans. I have a bit of a reputation to maintain.” 

Tomas would shake his head, kneeling down to sheath his bayonet in his greave, he’d frown curtly at the notion and indicate back to Mamizou, ever so slightly chiding her as she watches him with unmitigated bemusement.

“Not the first time I’ve heard those words, but thanks are in order however, I owe you for not eating me outright, I suppose. One must count their blessings no matter how tiny.” He rises back and stares further down the the creek-bank, starting to stride along with the waters flow, passing by Mamizou with neer another world, her gaze turning to follow him, a slight frown upon the corner of her lip, as she speaks up indignantly.

“Hey, ya can’t blame me for not wanting to get caught up in a fight over some Outsiders, especially ones that are causing an Incident to unfold, I am not trying to be callous about it either. The truth is earnestly your lives don’t really mean much around here, sad as it is. I’d hoped that at least giving you insight into what is stacked against you, so you’d know your not likely to walk out alive, if you go after your friends. If I was you, I’d make for the Hakurei Shrine or the Human Village, there at least you can get to safety and maybe find a way back to your home.”

Tomas would pause as his path, staring down the creek bed quietly as his mind mulled over her words. His mind gnawed the core of what she was saying, before the irony of it all struck him, with the strange new world arrayed against him he’d felt uncertain and fearful, however he was right where a Drop Trooper ought be, amidst the heart of the storm against the impossible. A slight chuckle roils from him, a genuine bulb of laughter that would come springing forth from within as he has the first good laugh he’d had in a long while, all whilst Mamizou stares in utter confusion. He’d cast a glance over his shoulder, a greatful tone in his force and smile on his face as he calls back to her.

“You and I both know that ain’t an option, my team is out there and I am responsible for them, can’t turn tail and run even when monsters are stalking their trail, gotta see em back safe and sound. I thank ya Mamizou, you ain’t half bad for a abhuman at least, best of luck salvaging this trash heap” 

As Tomas would make his way further away from the crash site, he’d sit there in quiet internal contemplation, his bravado certainly could carry him through but his mind would race back to how easily Mamizou had tossed him aside, her inhuman strength truly terrifying to behold. He worked his jaw as he tried to formulate a plan, if his team was caught in the net of a far more bloodthirsty of these yokai, then he’d need something to level the odds in his favor, something to tip the scales.

“Hey! Outsider!”

Tomas would pause as he hears Mamizou’s voice call out to him from behind, he’d turn around in time to watch the moonlight shimmer off a familiar form pinwheeling through the air towards him. He’d reach out with an armored glove and snatch the spinning las-pistol from it's arc mid-flight, pausing to inspect it as he glances back up to the bake-danuki. Mamizou was standing idly by, with the heavy satchels slung across her shoulder, her face a bit softer as she calls out to him, returning his earlier wave.

“Hey, human. Take your fancy  _ danmaku _ spitter, I got a gut feeling you're gonna need it. I am cheering for you, so don’t go and get yourself killed and disappoint me, you ain’t half bad for an Outsider!”

Tomas would pause, moving to thumb the side-arm active, as he gives Mamizou a swift two fingered salute, thanking her wordlessly before he wheels about and jogs further down the creek-bed heading off deeper into the yawning expanse of the forest that lay sprawled before him. The night air filled with the soft quiet sounds of night life crooning soft and subtle songs, whilst crickets chipped and trilled their notes. All the while far overhead did bright lances of light race and flaming bolts soar as the skies were alight with countless sparing forms all engaged as in the far distance did the vast ruined form of the heavy cruiser  _ Blade of Woe _ , continue is slow and ponderous decent ever onward to the earth that awaited it far below.

The trail Tomas followed would lead him snaking around and over the twisted and gnarled forms of downed trees and heavy roots that covered the creek, the water having risen slightly up to the mid of his calves. He’d plod onward, trudging through the mud and the mire as he forged his way onward. 

As he would move to clamber over a towering form of a collapsed tree, the faint gleam of metal amid the bright moonlight would ensnare his attention. He’d be given pause as he stares at the shimmer of a buckle, part of an emergency kit bag, it's canvas form torn and ripped, various medical supplies laying spilled out upon the network of interwoven roots that lay before it. Tomas would clamber across the downed tree, kneeling as he inspects the satchel, the unmistakable heraldry of the Blade of Woe emblazoned upon its side. He’d glance about, trying to spy any further clues, and seeing nothing further, he begins to salvage what he can from it's contents. Various elements of a mixed medical kit, along with a few smoke grenades, along with the singular form of a blind grenade. He’d swiftly pocket the loose munitions, his further rummaging recovering the slight form of a comm-bead.

Having lost his in the crash, he’d place the comm-link within his ear and tap it a few times as the tiny device stirs to life, starting to scan open Vox-Channels as it seeks out any sort of contact.

Softly the Lieutenant would speak up, his eyes scanning the deep shadows along the embankment, the moon above causing the shadows to yawn deep, his eyes playing tricks on him as he swears he spies flickers of movement.

“Anyone on this channel? This is Lt. Foley, 495th. Anyone receiving this frequency?”

The soft hiss of static would ebb from the comms bead, causing Tomas to mutter a curse beneath his breath as he rises from the rummaged kit, moving to clamber forth still, on his way ahead, only the pausing crackle of the vox would cause him to freeze instantly, as the labored breathing of Vicktor ebbed across the vox, tone low as the voidsmen wheezed short of breath.

“L-Lieutenant? You…please. You gotta help us. It's got us. It's fast, strong far too strong It… It should be this strong sir, it ain’t like back home at all. Can’t even see it. It's too dark.”

Tomas, hauls himself up, upon the muddy embankment of the creek’s edge, his once scarlet armor stained a deep earthy tone, as he clamber free of the water sleek mud below, a hand placed on his ear bead as he scans the horizon in all directions, the inky dark unbowing and seemingly all the same as all the trees blurr seemingly together, no visible landmark in sight.

“Alright listen to me Vicktor, you gotta get me a signal somehow, I ain’t seeing anything but damn trees, give me a sign Voidsmen. Anything.”

A long moment of silence took hold over the forest, Tomas peering in every direction as his head snaps about as fast as he could, watching, waiting and praying he’d spy something. Anything. 

With the shadows closing in, and the only noise the thunder of his heartbeat in his ears, he’d catch the sharp audible  _ crack  _ of a lasgun firing, from the corner of his eye, he watches some distance from himself, the forest flash faintly with the bright red retort of the las-fire. A single forlorn beam racing upward into the sky, before fading into nothing. 

But that was all he needed, Tomas would pull up the las-pistol into his off hand, his other sliding into his side pouch to check the status of his recovered arms, rapidly working to formulate a plan as he speaks aloud for the comms bead to hear him.

“Hang in there lad, I got you zeroed, ain’t nothing gonna happen to ya son. On the way.” 


	6. Chapter 5 - Baptism by Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of these days I am actually gonna fill these things out with things other than shitposts

**\\\ ++ :: Beginning Scene Reconstruction :: ++ /**

**[:: Inloading Data-Packet; Lt. Tomas Foley :: ]**

**\\\ ++ :: Continue Record Playback :: ++ /**

With all the energy he could muster in his tired frame, Tomas raced headlong towards where the singular las-bolt illuminated. His rapid haste kicks up a storm of mud and stones as he vaults a series of fallen tree trunks and low shrubs. His forward progress halted as he came to rest in a shallow depression along the leading edge of a fairly narrow clearing. The open clearing was crudely cleared, dense foliage hanging heavily around the outermost edge of the tall grass that easily stood to the knee. Far overhead in, the sky was blotted out by the shifting forms of the vast canopy the trees wove, the indistinct silver-light from the moon filtering down in soft beams that barely provided any insight to what was unfolding in the clearing.

Tomas brushes aside the errant leafy branches before him and peered out, taking stock of the situation as a strangled cry calls out into the shadows of the night. Before him, hovering a meter from the untouched grass below, shifts and roils a dense cloud of churning nebulous shadow. This indistinct shade heaves and moves almost as if alive and driven by some wicked internal cognizance. His jaw clenches harshly as he spots a pair of dangling boots hanging and weakly thrashing at the lowest point of this churning cloud, slick sheen of red and gouges in the armor plating laying plain the danger before him.

Within the nexus of shadow, he could vaguely make out an armored form, not unlike that of Ceres, struggling against some amorphous blob, from what he could glean she was at least alive, however the crack and labored squeal of rending plate echoing as the muffled imploring for mercy echo from the shrouded sphere lead Foley to suspect that she may not be for much longer if he didn't kick himself into action.

A cursory search reveals strangely enough, the absence of the Tech-Priestess Attona and the Skirtarii Gamma, of either of them he spied no sign. He shakes his head and pushes the thought aside for now, he had a job to do. With a soft touch to the side of his las-pistol, he unlatches the weapons side panel, rapidly readjusting the focus lens to handle a higher charge, his eyes never leaving the scene before him. Though he nearly flinches and mutters a muffled swear as he spies the battered form of Vicktor, crawling towards him pathetically. The Voidsmen armor was in shambles, the heavy flak platting seemingly burned away by what Tomas could only reasonably suspect were hot-shot las-bolts that seemed to have spared his form little pity as they had struck him from chest to leg, leaving him a crawling mumbling mess. The haggard and bloodied form of the trooper is plainly crawling towards him, one arm dragging at his side and limp, as he claws at the mud reaching out towards the Lt.

Vicktor reaches out, nose bloodied, as he mumbles out piteous imploring for help from his officer. His ragged and coughing voice heaving as he labors to breath.

"L-Lieutenant, P-Please ya… Ya gotta help us.. Don't lemme die 'ere Sir.."

Tomas silently raised a finger to his own lips, motioning to him with an open palm that everything is going to be alright watching furiously as the hardy las-pistol in his grip slowly built its charge.

Vicktor's crawling form seems to have ensnared the attention of the shifting ball of shadow, after a few long moments, the ragged and equally blooded form of Ceres is tossed aside. Her mewling and anguished cries, echoing faintly as the undulating sphere of shadow drifts ever so slowly over towards Vicktor. The Voidsmen whimpers and and his panic blossoms into hysterics as he watches it's silent form closing in, clawing at the mud as he starts to shout and call out for aid.

Tomas stares as the indistinct shape at the heart of the shadowy mass drifts down towards it's edge, a singular human seeming hand reaches down and tightly clasps itself pon the heel of Vicktor's boot. This floating figure slowly resolves into view, it was small but entirely humanoid, even more so than that Mamizou women he'd spoken to previously. Unsettlingly the floating figure wafts upon unseen and unfelt air currents, moving to haul the struggling form of Vicktor from the ground with the ease a man of an ogryn hefting a cask of las-guns.

With his target now in sight, Tomas rises in a blur, taking a swift step forward as his slides alongside the Voidsmen, a single armored hand clasping his collar, to prevent him from being hauled to his doom. He takes his aim with his other hand, aiming the las-pistol dead center of the seemingly startled shadow shrouded figure, before he squeezes the trigger. The immediate area is cast in a deep red hue as the las-bolt erupts from the weapon and streaks into the shifting ball, however a single blink was all it took. The humanoid figure was aside the las-bolt as it flew harmlessly through the shade.

The slight figure, with arms outstretched at their side, glances back, almost as if watching the distant lance of crimson trail off into the distance. Foley now felt a cold chill race up his back, he hadn't missed, unmistakably the shadow veiled figure was in an entirely different place from when the bolt had been aimed and fired. The change was neer even slight, as it became all too clear that this entity had somehow bodily evaded his las-bol. The figure tilts its head and pipes up, a cheeky female voice laughing with a clear tinge of excitement.

"Oh! Another one! That makes a full set of you humans! I can't believe I got so lucky and found so many of you in one place! And your Outsiders! Yay for me!"

The figure within the shadow pauses, their head glance over towards her right outstretched arms, a clear note of displeasure crawling into her voice.

"Oh. You nearly got me with that one. Now that makes me mad! You're a bit rude human! Why don't you wait your turn, I'll eat you when I get around to you!"

Tomas keeps the las-pistol leveled square at the indistinct shape within the churing mass of shadow, his boot steps moving aside as he half circles the downed form of Vicktor whom was watching the exchange fearfully from the mire of the earth, slowly hauling himself away with his good arm. Tomas casts notes Vicktors location, speaking up and raising his other hand while indicating to the forest behind him as he worked to keep the yokai's attention affixed to him.

"Afraid we aren't scheduled for a meal with one another, sorta 'fraid to tell ya but from where I am from, we don't really just eat when we feel like it. Lotta scheduling involved and pre-date picking far in advance"

The drifting figure leans in, as she watched the Lieutenant intently from within her shadowy nexus, a edge of curiosity on the edge of her voice,

"Is that so?~ But what if you are hungry and you want to eat right then? Do you have to wait? That seems like a dumb rule that humans do make. Like right now, This big guy is pretty meaty! That girl is sorta boney but she will taste sweeter probably since she is a bit younger! As for you though, I'm busy eating, so leave me alone and wait your turn! "

Tomas finally via his careful footwork managed to maneuver himself back and way from the two wounded Voidsmen as he continues to bait and goad the shadow yokai away from them, as he ever so slowly reaches down for the satchel at his side. His pistol leveled square at the figure as he tightens his grip, his knuckles white beneath the gloves, as he gives a shoulder shrug to the shadowy mass.

"Could have fooled me there, color me surprised to find a talking ball of smoke with an air-head inside that isn't sharp enough to finish her food before more humans show up…. " He nods once more to her as she slowly draws closer to him, " Even dumber still, your passing up lean and prime human cut. Nothing beats a meal that's hiked up on the rush of a fight, well that is unless you're too ninny to come eat me, all bark and no bite."

The humanoid frame within the shadow bristles visibly at the remark, a hissed retort resounding from her as she lunges forth towards Tomas arms outstretched and eager to ensnare him.

"I said shut up human! Let's see you talk if I eat your face!"

Reacting from the gut, Tomas's finger squeezed the trigger the moment the figure lunges for him, forcing the female shade to repeat the inhumanly fast evasion as she had before. A mocking laugh echoing from the ball of shadow as she moves aside her lunge carrying onward. However, this had the unintended effect of playing into Tomas's hand, as she had started her lunge, this las-pistol had discharged aiming square her left shoulder, as she blinked aside, this gave Foley the perfect chance to throw himself forward into a roll beneath her outstretched arms and side.

He sprung back to his feet, and snapped his side-arm back into position, firing off a series of several shots towards the female shades back, but much to his chagrin, the figure turns about in the blink of an eye, and moves aside as the bolts pass harmlessly on by. Another childish mocking laugh bubbles outward from the female shade, as she moved steadily towards him.

"Hah! Look at your _danmaku_! It's so weak and slow! You spoke so much of yourself and you can't even hit me directly! How stupid you are Outsider! If you want to play danmaku, I can teach you! But you'll have only one lesson to learn!"

The female shade raises her arms once more till they are outstretched, faint shimmers of pale white-silver light blossom forth on either side of the shadow, shortly before indistinct shapes of energy coalesce into glowing bullets. The shade indicates towards Tomas and the world erupts in a hailstorm of these bullets blazing towards and by him at shocking speed. With the onrushing initial wave, he casts his glance aside him, having made it at least to the edge of the clearing he dives towards the nearest hardy and stout tree to provide him some sense of cover.

His leap was a hair too slow, as the blistering light bolts grazing his carapace plate, the complex weave of material dissipating the worst of the heat, but a bolt did find it's mark between his shoulder blades, the armored heating up and receiving a blackened gouge when the shot hand landed. It felt like someone had struck him square in the back with a spanner, feeling the onset of a swelling bruise upon his muscles form. He crashes into the ground, and scrambles forward fully behind the tree as the bark ruptures apart in flying shrapnel shards as the tree was torn apart behind his very back.

Rapidly he scans the area for something to give him an edge, the hailstorm of danmaku were not that dissimilar to the shriek of a multilaser upon a Chimera, the rate of fire from this witch was far outside any capability he could muster. He spies the trees nearest to him and gauges their cover before he sprints for such, all before a dull roar fills the eastern horizon. Shrieking overhead was the wide swept form of a Vulture-Gunship, the high pitched whine from it's titanic turbine creating deafening shriek as it races overhead, Tomas's eyes locking on the racing orange-red engine trail it left as it passed over-head.

If he couldn't out fight the shadow yokai here, he'd need bigger guns. With a appraising glance to the ruined remains of the tree he had taken cover behind confirming his need to move, his boots bite into the earth as he sprints for a blind of fallen trees, the shrieking bolts of light hissing shockingly close to him, their heat enough to cause pin-pricks of pain to flare upon his face. As he reaches and vaults the fallen trees, the shadow yokai mockingly laughing at him as she slowly approaches him, tearing relentlessly away at his holding cover, he quickly taps the comm-bead within his ear whilst adjusting the frequency in search of what he desperately hope was not a long shot.

Tomas nearly sang a hymn then and there, when he catches the worried chatter from the circling gunship, the pilot and co-pilot expressing confusion over what was unfolding down in the forest below. He wastes no time in broadcasting to them, whilst yelling over the impact and shriek of the super-heated bolts of energy streaking just inches above his head.

"Break Break! This is Lt. Foley, 495th of Charlie 2. I am pinned down in a blind down here by a damnable witch and by the Throne could I use some air-support on station! Anyone on the Frequency? Over!"

A single moment of silence seemed to stretch forever, as the pilots quieted, listening as Tomas spoke, before level and flat male voice crackling male voice comes back over the radio, the distant orange-red lights of the once departing Vulture weaves back, doubling back around as it heads towards Foley in his general direction.

"Confirmed Lt. This is _Stalwart Fury_ signing on, we can confirm your link, we are on station providing air-support to ground elements, and Him preserve us you're the first person we've heard from. Do you have a means of marking your target? We don't have uplinks and are flying manually here."

Tomas flinches as a hole is punched through his cover far too close to his head for comfort. He rises once more, and whilst keeping himself low, moving steadily towards another tilting tree, diving behind it thick base as a hailstorm of _danmaku_ continues to trail him but a hair's breadth away and growing ever closer as he's forced to move. With cover now briefly in his favor, he hastily rummaged in his satchel, pulling out the two smoke and blind grenades he'd pulled off the satchel in the creek. He checks the smoke, and nods tapping his comm-bead once more.

"Confirmed, Target will be marked by the red smoke, understood? Red smoke, I'll radio in when I've got the target marked. Stand-by"

As he taps his comm-bead once more, he'd suddenly find the shrieking danmaku storm cease abruptly, this causes him to chance a look around the trees trunk, only to spy the racing form of this shadow yokai fully atop of him with a fist reared back and primed to strike. He reacts from his gut and brings his armored forearms up to shield his face only to feel what he could only compare to a thunder-hammer crashing into his forearms impact upon him. He was kicked back, knocked easily from his feet and sent arching through the air. As he is falling, the shadowy form of the yokai leaps atop of him, keen edged nails of a hand biting into his neck as he is driven into the ground with enough force to knock the wind from him.

The shadow yokai looms over him, a smug air around her as she laughs aloud at his gasping and futile clawing at her hands with his off-hand.

"I had to cheat, it was getting so boring just watching you hide behind trees, you didn't even fly once! I've seen humans fly all the time and you were too stupid to do even that simple trick! You were such a big mouth, calling me names but who is on the ground now? I think I will eat you first! Just to show I am a yokai of my word!"

Tomas starts to feel the corners of his vision grey slightly, as his gauntlet fruitlessly grasps at the utterly inhuman strength of the lass's grip upon his throat, he coughs and with all his might moves his right hand about in a frantic search. As his vision and his might slowly faded, he felt his glove brush up against the unmistakable form of the blind grenade that had dislodged itself from his back after she ran him down. He clenches his fist upon it, thumb sliding beneath the pin, as he stares back in choking defiance.

"Yeah, you're still a dummy, nothing really changed there."

The female shades head cocks to the side and chuckles bemused at this novel human, as she stares down at the choking form of the Lt.

"Is that so?"

Wordlessly he'd flex his thumb, the pin pulling free with an audible click, body twisting as he shoves the blind grenade forward, just before the face of the female shroud, well within the confines of the ebbing orb of dark that surrounds her. After but a moment, the grenade releases a hiss, it's outer casing rocketing outward as a bright multi-spectral light erupts outward, the intensity of such enough to peel away the writhing shadow about the yokai. The figure that hovered over him, had a frame of a woman no older than her early youth, stark and bright blond hair hung short from her head as a simple but immaculately maintained dress of back backed by a pale white blouse just beneath it, as the figure is finally revealed.

Rumia stares in dumbfound surprise as the blind grenade detonates, the flash of light burning her as she releases her grip on Tomas and reels back from the shock of suddenly being exposed to much light so abruptly. As she thrashes around and cries out in surprise, Tomas rolls aside, hauling out one of the smoke grenades from his pouch, before pulling it's pin and dropping it beside them as Rumia thrashed about, having let him go for now. The Lt. shoves himself upright and start to sprint back towards the clearing, his heart thundering as he tries to fight off the greying edges of his vision, his broadcast breathless and coughing.

"Stalwart Fury! Lt. Foley here, smoke is down, I repeat smoke down. I need support on-station now!"

With that, Tomas pumps his arms as he hauls into the clearing at a full kilt sprint, only skidding to a halt as he takes stock of the two Voidsmen's condition. Much to his relief Ceres was up and standing, a bare hand over her neck as deep wounds seeping bright red lines upon her skin. Her face was no better off as her slashed and clawed face stares in glassy eyed dread, only stirring once she spies the Lieutenant. She raises a hand towards him and hobbles his way.

"Lieutenant, I'm hurt bad, I… I'm bleeding, I need your trauma kit."

Tomas came skidding to a halt beside the mangled form of Vicktor, to which he stoops low for, and pulls the downed and wounded trooper upon his back in a fire-fighters carry. Vicktor crying out in pain as he is hefted onto the Lt. shoulders, his form hanging limp atop his officer. Tomas gives a look towards Ceres, noticing her lagging response, he'd bark an order to her and motion back towards the creek-beds edge.

"Soon enough Voidsmen, get to cover, we got air-support inbound. So haul yer Emperor lovin' arse over there and get down!"

He doesn't wait for her reply, instead he shuffles along as quickly as he can, barreling through the dense underbrush as he clears a path for the limping Ceres. He manages to reach the lip of the embankment that leads down into the creek below, before an angry howl caught his attention. As Ceres clambered down into the muddy pit, he'd stare back the way they came, the downed form of Rumia has risen backup shedding her sphere of shadow as she stares with unmitigated malice and hatred, her once porcelain flesh now a bright painful rosy hue due to the light from the blind grenade. Upon either of her side, sat those dully glowing spheres of light, the initial shape of the black-white danmaku bullets starting to form as she heaves lividly.

"Your dead human! It's over for you! You can't run and you can't hide! I am going to eat you alive, you scum, you villain!"

As she starts to move towards them over their now considerable distance, the roaring shriek of a shrill howl of turbines fills the air, a powerful down burst of air races down blowing away the canopy of the trees above as a stark and harsh chemical spotlight flicks to life with an audible crack , it's beam covering over the clearing, zeroing in on the dense smoke that wafted by and rolled past Rumia. The light sweeps over her once more, it's searing intensity causing her to raise her hands to block out it's focused beam.

Overhead the angular underbelly of the Vulture gunship shifts and various ports open, redirecting the engine's thrust downward as the gunship starts to hover. Whilst lacking the normal missile pods and heavier arms a vessel of it's class normally bore, nestled beneath either wing are the hulking forms of two seperate and vast rotary cannons with bloated drums of munition attached via a feed belt. The air was filled with a whistling electronic whine as the barrels start to spin at blinding speeds, before the twin Punisher Cannons erupt in a fusillade of fire. The electric shriek of the automatic buzz-saws roar turn the trees into explosive puffs of timber, and the grass and foliage blow into a moist sheen of green that hung in the air.

What shocked Tomas still was the fact, that at the leading edge of his maelstrom of fire, was Rumia, racing and peeling away from the hailstorm of lead that merrily rend the forest it touched with neer a second thought. Her slight form casting back bolts of danmaku back towards the armored gunship, of which it's scarred reinforced hide does not bow. Spying her actions were fruitless now, she clears a fallen tree before it explodes into shards of timber, and leaps upward, her body levitating and darting skywards. Her fleeing form drawing the attention of the Vulture pilot, whom promptly redirects the engines thrusts and shrieks off in pursuit of Rumia's fleeing form, exchanging bright streams of Punisher cannon fire and her own silver-white bolts of danmaku as they streaked off heading for the eastern horizon.

As Tomas stands breathlessly, the fatiguing striking him like a shock-maul to the head, his comms bead crackles to life as the pilot speaks up once more.

"Stalwart Fury, to Lt. Foley, 495th. We are signing off-station, and heading to trail unknown contact. Attempting to vector in Thunderbolts for air to air engagement. Be advised; Valkyries from the 4th company of Ichorous V have a rally point and extraction point not but a few miles east of your smoke. Advise you head for the extraction point, as elements of the Ashari 2nd, 495th A company and Bavarii 3rd were able to secure a makeshift landing sight west of her. They have reports of human habitation as well they are investigating. May Him on Earth preserve you Lt."

Tomas stands there watching the sky, the roar of fighters and strike craft had faded, the duels above having drifted away leaving a pristine and untouched sky far overhead. His eyes staring tiredly at the moon and stars above wondering what he possibly could have done to arrive at this insane realm. He felt a tug at his back, a quick glance revealing Ceres, removing his trauma kit, applying dresses to wounds on her neck, as she stands idly by with a glassy eyed stare. All whilst Vicktor remained inert upon his back, the rise and fall of his chest the only sign he wasn't dead. The Lieutenant nods his head in an easterly direction, speaking up as he turns and starts to make his path for the rally point.

"We are packing up and heading east, the Ichorous V boys apparently have an extraction point there, just a walk through the woods and we are there. I only got one question…" He turns back and catches Ceres eye, who meets his gaze numbly. "... Where on Terra are the Cog-boys, and why weren't they with you?"


	7. Interlude Alpha

**\\\ ++ :: Halting Lt. Foley Record Recollection :: ++ //**

**:: Intervening Transmission Received ::**

**\\\ ++ :: Intended Recipient: Ordo Astra; Inquisitor Tharix :: ++ //**

**[[ :: Opening Communication Channel :** **_Acolyte Artaus_ ** **Transmitting . . . ::]]**

“... Most holy of Inquisitor, I do hope that the archive you have been reviewing thus far is satisfactory in the depth and complexity of it's content, our menials present on station would like to further indicate we’ve taken the liberty to prepare further data for transmission to your vessel at your request…”

**[[ :: Incoming Vox Traffic: Ordo Astra; Inquisitor Tharix :: ]]**

“... Indeed Acolyte, thus far the archive has answered some of my lingering questions, though many more remain, most importantly, I’ve a great many inquiries surrounding this Gensokyo and it's precise nature are perplexing. I’ve had my Scribes, cross-reference stellar charts and and star maps from a myriad of locations across the galaxy, only to have my efforts bear forth no fruit. Tell me, did you and your team manage to salvage any meaningful data from the various night-time stills from this entry in Tomas Foley’s archive? I am seeking to better place this realm in the context of a greater whole, and I believe the few reconstructed scenes of the night sky might be a keen clue to unveiling this mystery…”

**[[ :: Incoming Vox Traffic: Acolyte Artaus :: ]]**

“... Keen is the mind you possess M’Lord! For indeed we had noticed and managed to recover pic-captures from various sources within the cogitators memory banks. To say we’ve swept over stellar charts ranging from the acrid soaked battlefields of Helix Primarus to the chaotic and hellish blight of the Cadian gates own stellar layout, is by far an understatement! 

But as of late one of the servitors that was analyzing this data for us, made a most peculiar and estranged connection, we’ve never dared muse. Upon comparing catalogued pic-captures from various deep and cloistered librarium. We suspect that the layout and position of the stars in the sky above this realm, most closely match that of… well Holy Terra itself M’Lord as erroneous as it may seem.”

**[[ :: Incoming Vox Traffic: Ordo Astra; Inquisitor Tharix :: ]]**

“ … Come now Acolyte, your conclusion is not only impossible, but entirely dumbfounding. You have spent nearly a decade collecting data pertaining to this investigation, and you lead me forth and suggest that this realm of Gensokyo is somehow upon the blessed soil of the Holy of Holies? You must have your servitors decommissioned and slated for reconstitution with fresh and agile minds unburdened by a decade of musing over these data-streams. I will order you a new set of computational and archivist servitors for your librarium … “

**[[ :: Incoming Vox Traffic: Acolyte Artaus :: ]]**

“ … M'Lord, I regret to inform you that I’ve already ordered the servitors purged and replace no less than thrice when the data was presented to me. Sire, this data has been mused and mulled by three separate cogitator banks for no less than a decade and each one spits forth the exact same report, each time! I would not be honoring my station if I were not to look upon this data without suspicion, but yet each time without fail the data is laid bare before my eyes. 

I’ve consulted with various Magos Dominus from various circles of the Adaptus Mechanicus’s own Astra-Chronologica and each of them have stalwartly pointed out the uneasy familiarity and similarity the placement of the stars in the skies between ancient catalogued pic-captures of Holy Terra’s own skies and that of this Gensokyo. The logic engines indicate that by some unknown means, these realms are either frightfully similar, or are by definition the exact same! …”

**[[ :: Incoming Vox Traffic: Ordo Astra; Inquisitor Tharix :: ]]**

“ . . . **[*System does not register audio input*]** . . . “

**[[ :: Incoming Vox Traffic: Acolyte Artaus :: ]]**

“... M’Lord, the data is conclusive, I have transmitted the excerpts from our research notes here to your vessel. I know not what this means or if this is even possible, as it appears this realm of Gensokyo is upon the face of Holy Terra itself, but far in the distant past as there is no sign of orbital defensive batteries nor the militarization of her holy orbital body Luna. As to how this Battlegroup could have arrived upon such a plane confounds the mind, as we’ve yet to speculate upon such … “

**[[ :: Incoming Vox Traffic: Ordo Astra; Inquisitor Tharix :: ]]**

“ … Standby Acolyte, I am opening this vox-channel to another more experienced in such fields than myself…”

**[[ :: Alert: Incoming Vox Traffic: Ordo Chronos; Inquisitor Matarii :: ]]**

“... **[*Vex sigh Audible*]** The hour is late Inquisitor Tharix, I pray to the Throne you’ve some proper reason for interrupting my slumber, I left clear instruction that I was not to be interrupted at this hour …”

**[[ :: Incoming Vox Traffic: Ordo Astra; Inquisitor Tharix :: ]]**

“... You can whinge and weep over your precious sleep another time Matarii, we have far more grave matters to discuss, as my Acolyte has recovered some unsettling information about the Ad Integrum Battle-Group that I am investigating. Tell me, in your Ordo’s records, when vessels are lost within the confines of the Immaterial, how far back or forward are they capable of travelling chronologically? ...”

**[[ :: Incoming Vox Traffic: Ordo Chronos; Inquisitor Matarii :: ]]**

“... Tharix, you called me in the mid of my sleep cycle, to ask me about damnable time distortions and how far they are able to travel within the course of space-time? Damn it, you ineffable fool, I told you not to waste my time on petty -”

**[[ :: Incoming Vox Traffic: Ordo Astra; Inquisitor Tharix :: ]]**

“... Damn it Matarii! Listen to me, the data my Acolyte has recovered points solidly to support that somehow the Battle-Group  _ Ad Integrum _ is currently on Holy Terra, far before even the reclamation of the Luna’s surface, can you fathom what sort of implications this would have for our species if this was accurate! I am transmitting our findings, I need you to read them and answer my question! …”

**[[:: Data Transmitted; Sender Accepted Data Archive ::]]**

**[[ :: Incoming Vox Traffic: Ordo Chronos; Inquisitor Matarii :: ]]**

“...  **[*Long Unbroken Silence*]** This is impossible. There is no means nor way for a vessel let alone a fleet of them to traverse that far back chronologically. What in His name is going on here. Even the Chronometer readings are wildly fluctuating here, and feeding back dates and times beyond the capability of their recall. 

You’ve several data recorders, one of them time-stamped from the early days of the M31, then you’ve some of these records spitting out dates that range from M1 to M4. None of these are possible. Have you spoken with Adapts of the Mechanicus? What it seems to me, your dealing with faulty Chronometers that are causing this wild delusion, though I will confess the star-chart data is, unsettling …”

**[[ :: Incoming Vox Traffic: Ordo Astra; Inquisitor Tharix :: ]]**

“... That is what I have said, and my menials have relayed to me! There is no way under His golden light that such a thing could have occured. Yet laid before you is data that has been verified by hundreds of independent sources. As for the Chronometer data, Acolyte! Have you had members of the Mechanicum inspect the data-recorders and ensure their blessed machine’s spirit still functions as it should? …”

**[[ :: Incoming Vox Traffic: Acolyte Artaus :: ]]**

“... Y-Yes my Lord! I have sent the physical data-banks of the Chronometers to the nearby Forgeworld of Ryza, they have physically plied and inquired with the Machine Spirit of the data-banks and they attest that these chronometers are accurately reporting their times with the data they were able to record and provide. …”

**[[ :: Incoming Vox Traffic: Ordo Chronos; Inquisitor Matarii :: ]]**

“... Damnation that boggles the mind to even suggest these things could occur, though I am still skeptical of this entire ordeal or at least the location of your Battle-Group, I shall reach forth to my contacts within Ordo Malleus and Ordo Custodum, as there are many cases recorded that produce similar results daemonic entities become involved in the material plane, time and space flow and ebb differently, along with the sky you see in your pic-captures could be entirely fabricated or manipulated by beings Immaterial… 

Thus as this situation has piqued my curiosity, I am hellbent to get to the bottom of this once seemingly unassuming Battle-Groups loss. I shall take my leave, Long My His Light Shine. ... ”

**[[: Vox Link Terminated; Ordo Chronos; Inquisitor Matarii ::]]**

**[[ :: Incoming Vox Traffic: Ordo Astra; Inquisitor Tharix :: ]]**

“... Very good, Inquisitor Matarii is a senior among his Ordo, hopefully the resources he will be able to bring to bear will help us gather further insight into this matter, and broach if there was warp-based chronological distortion, or if some entity of the Immaterial is ensnared our Battlefield in a twisted twilight realm between the Material and Immaterial. 

Now, where were we? I do believe we had reached the close of Lt. Foley’s first reconstructed archive, had we not? Whilst I find it entirely unsavory and particularly vile he even wasted breath with the mutant abhuman he addressed at the crash-site, the implications that come of these creatures and their inhuman powers as he fought to save the Voidsmen’s lives do raise a myriad of questions how these beings are capable of performing such actions.

In addition, back when he was aboard the  _ Blade of Woe _ , your recreation actually confirmed the presence of Traitorous Legionnaires, or at least renegade elements of Astarte that had boarded their vessel, can you explain the meaning of this? Is there active confirmation that Traitor Legionnaires are among the crew and how so? There was no record of such in the after action report from Ichorous V. …”

**[[ :: Incoming Vox Traffic: Acolyte Artaus :: ]]**

“... Indeed my most holy lord, I can assure you that the data we’ve collected from the archives do fully indicate to the presence of seditious forces that successfully survived the vessels controlled deorbit by Commodore Terval. As for the presence of Traitor Legionnaires, we do have several banks of cogitators working to process after-action reports that come later in the archive that seem to conclusively prove that Traitors of the XXth legion were operating in some capacity throughout the recorded time-line spent in this Gensokyo. 

Though confusingly, the reports are scattered as they make wild and raving claims that elements of this Legion both assisted and assaulted their positions on many occasions, and descriptions of their appearances vary wildly from one account to another.

In addition, Traitorous elements from what the Navigator’s flight logs indicated, may have boarded the vessels suddenly as whilst in transition as it was recorded that another vessel had joined their formation during their voyages course, shortly after the Gellar Fields failure. 

As for what sort of doorways opened that subsumed the Fleet thereafter, we’ve no data in any archive or librarium at our disposal that would bring us a step closer to unraveling such an enigma.

From what we can glean, this vessel that joined their formation prior to the chaos, instigated the fleet wide revolt by traitorous elements hidden within the Ichorous V planetary defense element and various vessel menials and officers. There are reports as well thus far, we haven’t had a chance to substantiate, that the unexpected fleet addition was actually carrying members of a warband, though the data is still out on this presumption. …”

**[[ :: Incoming Vox Traffic: Ordo Astra; Inquisitor Tharix :: ]]**

“... Troubling to know that elements of the Battlegroup were trapped wherever they are with elements of the arch-enemy nipping at their heels. Certainly it's even more fortunate to know that we soon will have assistance from pillars of the Ordo Malleus investigating this situation, with their resources we maybe able to make some measure of headway. We shall see what the Emperor has willed for them soon enough I do suspect. 

Now, as for this archive, Lt. Foley does manage to return to these Valkyries from what I am to understand? What became of the Tech Priestess Attona and the escorting Skirtarii, they seemed to have vanished from the record shortly after the crash and before the Lt. returned to the waking realm. 

**[[ :: Incoming Vox Traffic: Acolyte Artaus :: ]]**

“... As it pertains to the Tech-Priestess and Gamma, we are unsure M’Lord, they do not return until far later in the archive, their whereabouts unrecorded it seems. But, aye, M’Lord, Lt. Foley does manage his way back to the extraction zone, before his archive suddenly derails from the rest of the expedition. From what we can glean, he returned with the Voidsmen to an ad-hoc airbase they were establishing by elements of their A company along with elements from both Bavarii and Asharii regiments.

However some sort of conflict erupted between the air-bases scouting force and abhumans that dwelled in what they were codifying as “ _ Yokai Moutain _ ”. This resulted in several small scale skirmishes that resulted in Lt. Foley jumping with a small team from the 495th and established a hard-point at the entrance of some sort of cavern entrance. We can begin there if you want M’Lord. …”

**[[ :: Incoming Vox Traffic: Ordo Astra; Inquisitor Tharix :: ]]**

“... Hold Acolyte, I want to see more interactions with these natives during this initial foray into the realm, do you have an archive you can supplement in between those of Lt. Foley and his team on the ground? Perhaps someone from the ranking command structure might give us some more insight into how the regiments are put together in their crumbled command structure and their interactions with the natives? …”

**[[ :: Incoming Vox Traffic: Acolyte Artaus :: ]]**

“... Actually I do have an archive we can look over, it's an excerpt from the immaculately kept journal and audio/visual recordings from the Lord Commissar attached to the regiments. The Lord Commissar in question is Bulgraf Von Draken, an extremely decorated and especially aged member of the Commissariate that won his honors and accolades during the myriad of Ork incursions that cropped up in the sector along with sizeable Hrud migration, whilst in service he earned for himself eventually being attached at the sector level. Throne, this man is well into his 7th decade of service, in addition he was actually in the process of demobilization whilst training upcoming commissars in the sector’s Schola Progenia. 

From what we can tell, he was called back into action during the Greenskins invasion, and subsequently made his escape with the fleet when they hauled groundside elements off-world. When it comes to the role he plays in this Gensokyo, from what our records can confirm he was the acting and de-facto operation and command of the entire campaign, whilst sharing command with Magos Dominus Gretia and Major Bruma of the 495th, as it appears the Lord General in charge of their campaign did not survive a duel with a Warboss back on Ichorous V leaving them understaffed at the senior level. 

**[[ :: Incoming Vox Traffic: Ordo Astra; Inquisitor Tharix :: ]]**

“... Mhmm sounds like a reputable source of information, that can give us some insight into their operational planning and how they handled interactions with the natives. Very well Acolyte, if you would kindly forward me the data-archive, let us begin our review…”

**[[ :: Vox Communication; Terminated ::]**

  
  


**[[ :: Beginning Data In-load from Remote Source ::]**

**[:: Inloading Data-Packet; Lord Commissar Bulgraf :: ]**

**\\\ ++ :: Preparing Record Playback :: ++ /**

**\\\ ++ . . . ++ //**

**[++ :: Benediction of the Day :: ++ ]]**

“. . . Fear not the shade nor shadow Guardsmen, for where you tread so too does his Light . . .”


	8. Interlude Alpha - Chapter 1

**\\\ ++ :: Beginning Scene Reconstruction :: ++ /**

**[:: Inloading Data-Packet; Lord Commissar Bulgraff :: ]**

**\\\ ++ :: Begin Record Playback :: ++ //**

Commissar Bulgraff was not having a very swell day. The aging fellow adjusts his black great coat and crimson sash, leaning against the edge of the hatch he was occupying. His towering peaked cap turns with his head focus as he scans the horizon with a pair of magnoculars that click and whirr as they focused on the horizon scanning for even but the barest hint of anything that might pique his attention.

He stood turned out of the hatch of the squat and wide form of the Achilles Ridgerunner, the fat tyres of the hastily modified civilian vehicle is entirely caked with thick mud, the vehicles angular body having failed to escape a treatment much the same. The armaments that normally rest on heavy mounts that mar his view had been hastily removed before they had made landfall, a sticking point that made the grizzled man work his jaw idly cursing everything under the moonlight that he was stuck in what amounted to a unarmed recon vehicle, out in a possible warzone. 

Down within the hull of the Ridgerunner, a pair of young guardsmen clad in the fatigues of Ichorous V’s own Planetary Defense Force, have slunk down in their seats, their inexperience readily apparent as they talk back and forth to one another. The driver of the Ridgerunner, a younger thinner fellow seemed to have discovered his chair could rotate, and thus had unlocked the swivel function of his seat. The young man lazily spun idle circles reclined as far back as the seat permits him too. He’d stare blankly at the drivers hatch above him, idly bouncing a rubber ball off the hatch and catching it. 

The trooper, Droog speaks up addressing pretty much anyone within earshot, “Alright Pikes, but look, what about this, right? So it's a  _ felinid _ right? But it's just the ears and tails man, you're telling me that you totally wouldn’t give her a chance? Even if she was the sweetest thing in the world AND all the girls on your habitation block had been exposed to bio-chems from the foundry. You’d still say no?”

Across from him, laying on his back was a somewhat huskier trooper, a soldier that had never known a want of food in his entire life, merely has his data slate open before him, tapping away on it as he flicked through various text files and informational reports. He pauses and glances over towards and shoots him a musing look, he tilts his head a few times, his helmet acting like a makeshift headrest as he speaks up,

“Ehh, I don’t know mate, it doesn’t really do anything for me. I mean it's an abhuman right? So if you like to marry and stuff, you're still stuck getting slapped with a reproduction fines, I mean if she is nice and has a pretty voice, then yeah I mean I could risk it. But have you not looked at the fines the Governor put on the Hive? It was like, mind boggling, we would have had to pull off-world duty tours for years just to meet the fine. On Top of that your trying to find the boltgun in the lasrifle mound, the type of  _ felinid _ you describe is like an anomaly even within the abhuman community. Remember all those fancy rich nobles from Zega Hive paid at least a star-ships cost to have them brought in from the Halcurii Sector. So I don’t really think that’s in the cards man. Keep dreaming.”

Droog merely continues to spin and sigh idly as he catches the rubber ball, patting it a few times as he explosively sighs, turning his helmet up as he calls out to Bulgraff, as the old fellow scanned the horizon. 

“Hey Commissar, what do you think? It's permitted and blessed so long as it's within the range of closer to humans, yeah? So what are your thoughts on that, huh?” 

Bulgraff lowers the magnoculars and frowns curtly, leaning back as he addresses the youth, with a flat and his unfading grimace, his tone surprisingly placid.

“Ehh, you damn kids and your boundary pushin’ ain’t no good in my book, besides what's the point of taking an abhuman wife, if’n ya gotta go off world for two thirds of your life hoping you get back alive and that she will be. Seems pointless when you can settle down with a full-blood human and just call it a day. None of this muckin’ about with the governor and his damn taxes.”

Droog sucks air between his teeth and sighs, resuming bouncing the rubber ball off the inside hatch, he pauses and snatches the ball out of the air and bolts upright, indicating to Pikes and speaking with a blooming vein of excitement.

“No way, off-world deployment right? Now you tell me that this isn’t the Emperor’s will unfolding and in action! Oi! Commissar, does this deployment count as off-world assignment? And if we shoot at a few bushes a few times, are we eligible for hazard pay?”

Bulgraff exhales and squats down inside the Ridgerunner, face carrying faux excitement, before it falls back into his usual stoic look.

“Why yes! It does count as off- Ahhh, damnation, would you look at that, Hive Tilus was in every sense of the word, on fire, when we evacuated there. But naw lad, lemme just get your payment requisition forms all filled out and file them off to Central Command, post haste.”

Bulgraff sat there, pretending he had an auto-quill and a piece of parchment, eagerly scribbling in the air as he glances up at Droog whom merely gave him an unbemused look. He mimes tearing the form out of a book, before tossing it to a fictional breeze. 

“There ya go! Pay request stub is in the pipe, should get back to you a few centuries knowing that only the finest, still more than likely burning, Administratum wage-menials have gotten your request for hazard and off-world pay, just so you can marry a damn abhuman.”

As Bulgraff stands back up out of the hatch, Droog swings about in the chair, speaking up to the Commissar idly, as he tries to find new ways to stave off the all consuming monotony of his current objective; waiting. 

“You know if you set Administratum wage-menials on fire, I don’t really think they would work any faster, I mean, I am sure they have to fill out forms to even get permission to even be on fire in the first place. So all in all it would just slow them down, Throne they are like the Astarte of bureaucracy. But, yeah, so how long are you gonna stay up there staring at the same terrain Commissar? I am getting an itch in my boot, I just wanna floor it and open this bad girl up and see what she can do.”

Pikes speaks up, as he turns off his data-slate, indicating towards Droog with a grin on his face as his fellow trooper was gripping the wheel, miming stamping down on the gas as he makes muffled engine and shift changing noises with his mouth.

“Oi, Droog, Bully-graff is a bit sad,why don’t you play the Commissars favorite game, just to cheer him up?”

Bulgraff grimaces as he slaps his gloved hand to his face, leaning heavily on the edge of the hatch as he speaks up almost imploring them not too.

“Don’t do this now, we just did this not even a half hour ago.”

Droog, pauses his faux driving and claps his hands together, turning around with a wide grin on his face. 

“You know Pikes, that’s the best idea I’ve heard all day. Commissar, might I ask you for a game, it's called, ‘Behold what I beheld with mine own blessed eyes’. I know you’ll love it, it's bound to cheer you right up!”

Bulgraff grimaces ever more deeply.

“No, No ten thousand times no, do you want me to bash your head in with these magnoculars? Because you're on the blessed path to getting your head bashed.”

Droog idly spins in his chair once more, spinning as fast he can not unlike a top, ignoring the threats from the tired commissar.

“Blessed with sight from Him so divine, I peered forth from this vehicles confines, pray tell what did I find that was tall and shone with a viridian shine, commissar?”

Bulgraff stares at him, idly tossing the magnocular at his chest, which draws a mock scream and a mote of surprise as the younger trooper recoils from it ensuring not to drop the valuable piece of gear. The older man works his jaw as he thinks, frown splayed unendingly across his face as he stands up, playing along sarcastically with the joke, rising up from the hatch as he slaps his gloved hands down on the edge of the Ridgerunner’s cupola. 

“Well damn Trooper Droog, I couldn’t possibly fathom what could be tall green and everywhere…. Lemme see boy, could it be that damn bamboo lookin’ plant there, or maybe it's one of it's ten thousand cousins? Hmmm, gotta think really hard on this one, ain’t sure I am gonna be smart enough to figure it out.”

True enough, they were in the middle of the unrelentingly thick and cloistered Bamboo forest, a dense path having been carved out in their trail as they had driven for what feels like hours among the narrow paths and stretching winding routes through the entirety of the forest. To say that Bulgraff’s blood pressure was up was to speak the obvious, he angeredly chews his lho-stub while placing his head on the roof of the Ridgerunner, smacking his fist against the roof several times to vent his anger. 

Droog swings about and shrugs, quite relaxed about the whole situation or failing possibly to truly comprehend what was unfolding. 

“Aww cheer up Bulgraff, ain’t no need to get upset. Oh! Wait I got an idea, why don’t we get your big ogryn bodyguard to just punch his way through the forest. Oh, wait he’s not here.”

Pikes pauses, as he rests on his side watching the two go back and forth. The thought struck him, so he raises a hand and indicates between Droog and Bulgraff, his brow furrowed in confusion, 

“You know I did notice it didn’t smell like a grox had keeled over and died here, what gives? Where did you say Barz was?” 

The Ogryn in question, Barz, was a three meter tall hulking dimwitted specimen of an abhuman, with the raw muscle mass and proven track record of breaking reinforced dropship doors for the by sheer accident, he made a terrifying sight as he escorted the Commissar about on his daily duties and routines. The fearsome bodyguard was normally inseparable from the Commissar as his intellectual capacity truly did limit his ability to do really, anything that he wasn’t given step by step guides how to do written in a style comprehensible by young juvie. But as of late the giant hulking slab of unyielding muscle was not visible, not hide nor hair for well…

“He fell down a hole.”

Bulgraff rubs his face and slides back down, into the commanders seat, next to Pikes and behind the spinning form of Droog, he gives a tired sigh, and moves to pull out a lho-stub. He’d chew upon the end of the stub as he glances between his two aids, who stare at him confused, before giving a confused shrug.

“He fell down, a frackin hole that we stumbled upon after we escaped the Skytalon crash. I told you we were heading for this damn Ridgerunner, once we had it turned right side up, I told him to get a tool kit from the crashed Skytalon. He walked off and fell down a damn sinkhole…” He catches the looks the two of them gave him, somewhat unconvinced as he indicates between the two youths, “He was fine damn it, but the fall was far beyond the meager line or rope I had, and quite frankly I didn’t have an Atlas recovery vehicle to crane his big head out. So I told him to rally with us east of the pits, and now here we are, lost ourselves in a midnight bamboo hell!”

Pikes sits upright, and reaches over to pat Bulgraff’s shoulder, in faux sympathy, clearly lining up for a dig at him. 

“Ehh, it's alright Commissar, just like Barz with his absolutely expert skill of subterranean navigation, we too will find our way to our beloved Emperor’s warm embrace far from this bamboo nightmare we find ourselves in.”

Bulgraff, stares daggers at Pikes, reaching over with a gloved hand to indicate to the man he walked a fine line,

“I knew I shoulda shot you both before we got stuck in this forest, Damnation …” He leans back against the bare permasteel skeleton of the commanders seat and sighs “... Make me a damn pot of recaf Pikes, and do something useful.”

Pikes give a firm squeeze of Bulgraff’s shoulder before turning round to the vessel warmer, built into the vehicle, placing a kettle on the stove. Bulgraff grants only a wordless gesture towards Droog, whose face instantly comes alive, knowing full well his time has come once more. With the clank of the chairs swivel release, he finds himself turned back fully around and gripping the wheel with a manic gaze in his eye, his hand turning the key as the engine rumbles back to life. 

A cackle erupts from him as he jams his flak-boot into the gas and the ridgerunners wheels squeal to life, a shower of shattered bamboo stalks and dirt erupting behind it as the squat and sleek vehicle rockets off into the dense forest. 

As the Ridgerunner races through the dense forest, it's lowered prow hacking apart and tossing aside mangled bamboo shoots, the poorly tuned suspension causes a jarring violent bucking that forces Bulgraff to keep a white knuckled grip on a grip-bar that ran alongside his station at the commanders hatch. 

Droog keenly watches the world blaze past him through the armored window, as chunks of bamboo pinwheel past the vehicle as it tears forward, it's engines howling, as due to the relatively flat terrain, he merely pushes the gas fully to the floor. A quick glance back at his compatriots, gives him sight of Pikes, somehow, managing to brew a cup of recafe as if his hands and focus were gyro-stabilized despite the violence of the bounding buggy. Taking notice of the scowl on Bulgraffs face, Droog’ reaches out and smacks one of the controls jury rigged to the spartan control panel before him, shouting over the din of shattering stalk-plants.

“Let’s put on some tunes, yeah Commissar? Sorta lift the spirits of the men. What are you feelin’ today? Something a little more thrash-cored or perhaps something classic, like agri-bass with something about goliath trucks and toxic muddin? I am feeling the latter.”

A flick of a switch and the dull roar echoes from outside the vehicle, as several sets of poorly rigged vox speakers stir to life, thundering out out a rumbling static laced bass-line as the innocent bamboo forest was accosted by an agri-worlder booming about his infatuation with his goliath truck. Bulgraff merely pales as he rears back a boot, kicking the back of Droog’ seat, raising his voice about the thunder of the music and the howl of the engine. 

“Damn it Trooper, You cut that off, we are in unknown territory. If your lookin’ to get yourself killed by an anti-armor team lying in waiting for us, your on the right path!” 

Droog was far too busy singing along aloud to the booming songs catchy beat to really notice the chastisement from the Commissar, his hands slapping along the wheel as he brings the squat form of the Ridgerunner screaming over a slight knoll, as he does the squat scout vehicle leaps airward, before crashing down in a spray of mud and water as it came down and tore through a creek. 

He frowns curtly, as the armored window becomes smattered with mud, idly toggling a pair of servo-limbs to scrape the mud and debris from the window, only to spy blurs of white and hues of color that contrast the unending sea of bamboo shoots as it appears their Ridgerunner blasted into a tiny clearing of sorts. 

Droog narrowed his gaze, spying these inhumanly fast forms as they fled before the Ridgerunner, humanoid certainly, but what they were or up too was left unclear. The more pressing matter were the racing forms of energy bolts, danmaku that streaked in from all sides around the vehicle, peppering it's permasteel hull with carbon scoring and pockmarks marred by melted alloy. Droog throws the wheel, hard right as the groaning vehicle ponderously moves to course correct, only for an explosive release of air to echo in the newly made clearing. The front right wheel had imploded due to the focused fire of several dozen danmaku bolts, causing the squat vehicle to roll fully over, nosing down into the mud in a shower of debris and twisted components. 

The battered form of the Ridgerunner comes to a groaning rest a few meters away from the embankment it leapt, it's front wheel gone and suspension battered, as the crew inside shifted about in a daze. Bulgraff took the worst of it, but the faint shimmering that encompassed his form betrayed the conversion field at work that had absorbed the worst of the damage. He’d sit upright, barking an order to the other two as he looks around and recovers his peaked-cap, double checking the presence of his power sabre and plasma pistol.

“I damn well told you there was gonna be an ambush, alright who’s not dead?”

Pikes was laying in a crumpled heap, working to untangle himself from the webbing that had the Troopers lasguns were bound within, his face had a few nicks from the shattered cup he’d been pouring the recaf into, but otherwise seemed to be in a daze. 

Droog on the other-hand had been thrown against the steering column, his flak armor taking the worse of the blow, but it mauled the controls, leaving him wiping a few flicks of blood from his face, mumbling to himself audibly as he peers out of the mud-caked window through the various cracks and chips out of the armored viewport. 

“Awww Commissar it's all no good, she’s no good! This poor girl ain’t gonna hunt no more. Commissar! I see things moving out there, they are coming towards the Runner.”

As if on cue, the dull sound of impact echo on the roof of the Ridgerunners cab, several other sounds of movement as the sputtering vox speakers are silenced one after another on the vehicles outer hull. Bulgraff moves to unholster his plasma pistol, watching the half-closed hatch over him warily, as he lowers his voice.

“Stow it Droog. Pikes, get the lasguns sorted out from their webbing, we are gonna shoot our way out of here and head east…” He pauses and pulls up his chronometer “... If we follow the trail we tore through the stalks we can at least back-track to the Sky-talon’s crash site, once there we rig up the vox-set and try and call for extraction.”

Droog had managed to unlatch himself from the crash harness, standing up as the shatter-proof glass before him cracks and breaks apart into heavy chunks that flew into the cabin. Under the faint light of the bright moon overhead, fleet and nimble forms have clambered atop the hood of the Ridgerunner. One after the other two arms reach within the cabin, either of them clasping hold of Droog’s flak collar. He stares down in muted horror as the seemingly slight human hands start to bodily haul him out through the broken window. 

Droog screams in terror as he tries to take hold of the broken and bent steering wheel, yet despite being a full grown man, he is bodily hauled from the wreck like a ragdoll, his kicking flakboots the last thing Bulgraff sees before he is taken from the damaged Ridgerunner. Dozens of shapes moving just beyond the window in a living sea, as the form of Droog vanishes among the crowd. This prompts Bulgraff to launch himself towards Pikes, who was still fighting to get the lasguns loose from the webbing it had become wound up in. With a flick of his wrist, he draws his knife and starts to saw on the dense webbing.

The commander’s hatch is thrown open as the moonlight fills the tank, several lithe and slight forms drop down into the Ridgerunners interior, humanoid in form they scan the inside and zero in on Bulgraff and Pikes. Two of them leap forward, tackling the old Commissar from behind, as they work to bind his arms up with their own inhumanly strong grasp and muscles. Their slight stature belied a terrifying strength as the hauled him away from Pikes, several more of their kindred leaping forward to clamber atop the Trooper, wooden batons wailing upon the Trooper who eventually gave up his fight, collapsing on the ground in a ball as they kicked and beat him. 

Bulgraf fought like a man possessed, thrashing and backing himself into the wall several times harshly as he tries to shake off his captors, his hands being bound by their own as they tried and eventually succeeded in knocking the plasma pistol from his hand. He snarls and manages with a slam of his body into the two smaller forms wrapped around his arms and back, to weaken the grip of one of his attackers. His right arm comes across his chest and reaches behind him, aiming to ensnare anything of his attacker. His hands find purchase upon soft fur covered flesh, he’d harshly yank, only to get pained squeal as their grip weakens. With all the effort he could muster, he hauls the figure free from his back by their ears, tossing them away from him. 

As the attacker passes by, he gains the first glimpse of his foes, human, almost entirely human despite being somewhat smaller in height and scale. The figure was a male on the smaller side, the only thing striking Bulgraff as estrange were the pair of long floppy rabbit ears that hung from either side of the lads head. The rabbit strikes the wall and crumples in a dazed state. 

Wasting no time, the Commissar stares upward at the open hatch, as more shadows loom over it. He leaps upward, his free hand taking hold of the hatch’s edge, before he hauls himself and another of the rabbits that had locked itself to his back pinning his left arm, fully out of the Ridgerunners cupola. As he emerges into the moonlight he feels a terrifyingly harsh series of impacts driving into his hand and back as his unwelcome passenger finally releases him. The rabbits that stood around the hatch each bore sizeable mallets of estranged design, each of them swinging in an alternating pattern, aiming to drive him back down into the hatch. He snarls and reaches down with his freed hand as his body is wreathed in a bright and shimmering golden light from the conversion field, the worst of the impacts are absorbed, as he fights to draw his power sword. 

However, a violent tug on his belt, revealed the trio of rabbits, having beaten the tar out of Pikes had come over and now locked his blade in its scabbard with their hands, whilst some pulled him down further into the cabin of the Ridgerunner. The Commissar raged, and kicked out at his attackers, but their strength was terrifying, inhuman despite their size. Truly he knew if he could just reach his plasma pistol, he could drive them off, yet not chance was given as the Commissar is battered and hauled down into the Ridgerunner, whilst the swarm of rabbits clamber atop him, striking him with hammers and wooden batons till his conversion field is simple overwhelmed by the unending tide of cotton tailed foes that soon bind him in the heavy webbing from the Ridgerunner, hauling him out like a prize as the sizeable force of rabbits present cheer and celebrate their victory over the invaders, whilst hauling their ensnared forms deeper into the Forest of the Lost.

Bulgraff merely stares off blankly into the stars, resigned to be devoured or tortured for information it would more than likely seem. In the back of his mind he could only think. 

_ Today was a very bad day. _


End file.
